Tumbled
by Keitorin Asthore
Summary: A series of unrelated drabbles originally published on Tumblr, some just for fun and some as prompt fills. Drabble #291: "Insomnia"
1. Kurt Can't Burp

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Finn! Stop scrolling and pick something!" Kurt snapped, adjusting the bass controller on his shoulder. "Blaine and I have already picked our songs for the setlist."<p>

Finn frowned, tapping the arrow keys on his drum kit. "Yeah, but you picked 'Bulletproof' by LaRoux," he said.

"And your point is?" Kurt huffed.

"So that song has, like, the weirdest rhythm ever," Finn said, scowling in concentration at the screen as he scrolled down the list of unlocked and downloaded songs. "I need to get something that sucks for bass."

"He does have a point," Blaine offered. "You do know I'm kind of new at this whole Rock Band thing. You should have picked a bunch of easy songs."

Kurt swiveled on the ball of his socked foot. "First of all, Blaine, I can't believe that I have played Rock Band more than you," he said, counting the reasons off on his fingers. "Second, you play guitar, so this shouldn't be that much of a stretch. And third-"

His sentence was suddenly cut off by a loud burp.

Finn snorted. Kurt grabbed at his throat. "Oh my god, what just happened?" he demanded.

"You burped, babe, it's no big deal," Blaine said, trying to adjust the strap of his guitar. "We forgive you."

"No, seriously, is that what this is?" Kurt gasped.

Finn leaned back, scratching the back of his neck with a drumstick. "Haven't you ever burped before?" he said.

"No!" Kurt wailed. "Ugh! It's disgusting! Am I going to throw up?"

Blaine and Finn looked at each other and busted out laughing. Kurt looked from his brother to his boyfriend, his startled expression deepening to a firm pout, and shucked off his bass. "Fine," he sulked. "Be that way."

He stalked off to the bathroom. It took a while before Blaine and Finn's laughter died down; they could hear water running and the tiny motor of Kurt's electric toothbrush. Blaine wiped away a tear. "I guess I should go get him," he said.

"Yeah, probably," Finn said, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Aw, dude, I laughed so hard I drooled."

Blaine set down his guitar on the couch. "But, uh, while I try to talk him down, can you take 'Bulletproof' off the setlist?" he whispered.

"Already on it."

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I decided to start archiving all of my Tumblr drabbles on here, so here's the first of them! They're all really short, but at least you get some cute little scenes between my big updates, right?

This was inspired by the fact that _I do not burp _and on the rare, once a year occasions I do, it freaks me out. The incident that really inspired this was when I burped in front of Kat, my best friend of six years, and it was the first time she had ever seen me do that. She promptly died laughed and tweeted it to the world.

I was freaked out. Not kidding.

Also, La Roux's "Bulletproof" is incredibly difficult on drums for Rock Band. In case you were wondering.


	2. Push It I

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Blaine scrolled through Wes's iPod. "You have the worst taste in music," he snickered.<p>

"I'm just eclectic," Wes sniffed as he searched through Youtube. "Now stop mocking me and help me find a piece we can use for the assembly."

"You do realize that searching for 'school assembly performance' is not really going to help much," Kurt pointed out from his vantage point on the floor, surrounded by stacks of sheet music.

"Google-fu is not Wes's forte," David said.

"Oh, wait, this is promising," Wes said. "We could do a little bit of early-'90s top 40, can't we?"

Blaine looked up from the iPod. "It depends on what the song is," he said. "But I'm telling you now, the only way I'll do the 'Jump On It' song is if I get to do-"

"Dibs!" David shouted. "I call dibs on the Carlton dance!"

Wes waved his hand for them to shut up. "No, no, some school did a Salt 'n' Pepa song for their school assembly," he said. "I don't remember it, but the video's got a ton of hits."

Kurt's eyes widened. "Um, you guys, I don't think that that's such a good idea," he said, scrambling to his feet.

"They did 'Push It'?" David said. "Isn't that dirty?"

Blaine laughed. "Oh my god, look at them dancing!" he howled. "That kid with the fanny pack is-"

His voice trailed off. Kurt attempted to get past the piles of carefully sorted sheet music, but to no avail. "Turn it off!" he shrieked.

"Oh, no, this is too good," David said, smirking at Blaine's reddening face.

"They're not all that great," Wes shrugged. "I mean, it's mostly done to be provocative, but-"

"Wesley. The kid with the pelvic thrusts. Look familiar?"

Wes squinted at his iMac screen, then clapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh my god, Kurt!" he exclaimed. "Did you just slap your stepbrother's ass?"

"I was much younger and terribly misguided and for the love of all that's holy, turn that off!" Kurt shrieked, tripping over a musical theatre omnibus.

"Oh, no, we can leave it on," Blaine said faintly.

They managed to get through two and a half viewings before Kurt could navigate the sheet music maze, but the rest of the Warblers were very confused as to why David and Wes referred to Kurt as "Ooh Baby Baby" for the next week.

And why Blaine kept staring at Kurt's hips.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I tink I should make it a permanent running gag that Wes and David call Kurt "Ooh Baby Baby" when they want to tease him.

And then Kurt will get all flustered.

and Blaine will just be like "Kuuuurt's assssss..."


	3. Warbling

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Blaine slammed his sister's door open. "Frances!" he shouted. "Enough! If you keep singing, I am going to strangle you in your sleep!"<p>

Francey rolled her eyes. "If I don't practice my opera over the summer break, I won't get to keep my scholarship in the fall," she said. "And if I don't get my scholarship, I won't stay pre-med. And if I'm not pre-med, I can't go to medical school, and if I can't go to medical school, I can't achieve my lifelong dream of becoming the female version of Dr. Gregory House. So shut the fuck up, Zachary, I'm getting my Mozart on."

Blaine grabbed his sister by her long dark hair and dragged her across the hall to his room. "Look what you've done!" he accused, pointing at the cage on his dresser.

"What's Kurt's damn parakeet doing here?" Francey asked, smoothing her hair.

"Pavarotti is a canary, and I'm watching him for the week while Kurt's at summer camp," Blaine said. "And because you won't stop it with the arias, he's learned this."

Pavarotti let out a long, high trill. Francey perked up. "Shit!" she exclaimed. "That parakeet can sing!"

"Canary."

Francey opened the cage and Pavarotti hopped onto her finger. She sang a measure from her last aria; Pavarotti sang it right back. "Oh my god!" Francey exclaimed. "It's like I'm fucking Snow White!"

Blaine facepalmed. "What have I done?" he mumbled. "And how am I going to explain this to Kurt?"

Francey ran down the hall. "I've got to film this!" she said. "I'm a motherfucking Disney princess now!"

Blaine groaned and slammed his head against the wall.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

This was written before Pavarotti died.

Awkward.


	4. Vogue

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Puck staggered across the room. "Hey!" he hollered. "Hey! Hey, hey, hey you."<p>

The blurry gyrating figure in front of him made a slight sound of disdain. "Hi, there, Puckerman," Kurt said. "Nice glasses."

Puck screwed up his face. "They're Lauren's," he explained.

"I know."

Puck draped his arms around Kurt's neck. "So whatcha, whatcha…whatcha doin'?" he slurred. "You dancin'? It's all…weird and stuff."

"I'm voguing," Kurt explained, waving his hands around his face.

"Tha…so cool," Puck marveled. "Dude. Dude. Dude dude dude. You show me how to do that, an' I'll show you how to dance…cool."

And that is how Noah Puckerman learned to vogue, and Kurt Hummel learned to grind.

Too bad Blaine was too drunk to remember that particular dance lesson in the morning…

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

YEAH DRUNK!BLAINE WISHES HE REMEMBERS THAT SWEET KURT HUMMEL ASS ALL GRINDIN' UP ON HIM AND STUFF.

But now they're boyfriends, so they're fine.


	5. Cuddling

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>The Manly Princess Movie night was well underway by the time Kurt started to get tired. He had managed to stay awake for most of it, but now it was past three, and not even the epic escape from the Cave of Wonders could keep him awake.<p>

Despite himself, his chin tipped towards his chest as his eyes slowly closed. He straightened with a start, folding his arms across his stomach and blinking rapidly.

A gentle hand tugged lightly on his elbow. "You know you can cuddle with me, right?" Blaine smiled.

Kurt ducked his head. "We've only been dating for two days, I'm still not used to this," he said.

Blaine kept tugging him towards him. "Come a little closer," he coaxed, his firm fingers twining in the folds of his pajama shirt.

Kurt scooted towards him until he was somehow sitting between Blaine's legs, heart skipping beats as Blaine leaned him back against his chest. "Now, is that so bad?" Blaine whispered in his ear, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

Kurt shook his head, smiling shyly. Blaine kept one hand on his stomach; his other moved slowly to play with his hair. The movie played on, but Kurt fell slowly asleep, caught in the safety of Blaine's warm arms and the steadiness of his heartbeat.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

The prompt was cuddling...and I couldn't help it. DISNEY AND CUDDLING, WHAT'S NOT TO LIKE?

Nothing.


	6. A Very Krancey Makeover

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Fox and Ryan Murphy, not me.

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><p>"Hold still!" Francey commanded.<p>

Kurt squirmed. "I really don't think this is a good idea," he warned. "When you told me you wanted to do a makeover, I didn't know you meant that I was going to get made over."

"Are you kidding me?" Francey scoffed. "You really want to make over this? Yeah, in your dreams, Duckie. Now, seriously, hold still, or you'll regret it."

"Why?" Kurt said, his voice rising. "Are you going to cut my hair? You better not cut my hair."

"What? No," Francey said. "I just want to give a little more excitement to…you know." She waved her hand in his vicinity.

Kurt frowned. "You just gestured to all of me," he said.

"Look, Kurt, you're all cute and shit, but I want to do something a little more exciting," Francey said. "Now, you'd better let me finish, or-"

"Or what?"

Kurt swiveled around from Francey's vanity. Blaine stood in the doorway, a dark eyebrow raised high. "Frances, what are you doing to my boyfriend?" he asked warily.

"Making him awesome," Francey said, dragging Kurt to his feet. "See? See? Look at him. Twirl, Kurt, twirl!"

Kurt twirled around obediently, showing off the outfit Francey had dressed him in. Blaine's face slowly turned red.

Francey leaned over. "Told you I knew what Blaine's turn ons are," she whispered in his ear. Kurt nodded.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

YAY! KURCEY! OR...KRANCEY! WHATEVER THIS SHIP NAME IS CALLED!

In any case, there's actually a reason why Francey calls him Duckie. But it's adorable. I swear.


	7. Bare Feet

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Well, aren't you just precious?" Kurt cooed, cradling his three-month-old nephew to his chest. "Yes, you are. And do you know why? Because you take after your daddy, that's why."<p>

Little Christopher gurgled and batted a tiny fist towards Kurt. Kurt smiled and kissed the tip of the baby's nose. He settled back in the rocking chair with the baby cuddled against him.

"You are so perfect," he murmured, running his fingertip along the curve of the baby's tiny bare foot.

"So are you."

He glanced up and smiled. His husband leaned against the doorframe, arms folded as he grinned fondly at him. "Don't let Rachel know I'm holding Christopher," Kurt warned. "He's supposed to be napping, and she'll kill me for keeping him up."

Blaine made a lock-and-key motion at his lips as he strolled over to him. "He is pretty cute," he admitted, looking down at their nephew.

"He's darling," Kurt said, still ticking the baby's soft little foot. "I can't wait for him get big enough for me to dress him up properly."

Blaine cleared his throat. "You know, you would probably have more fun if you didn't have to give the baby back," he said.

"Well, I could try, but I think Finn would notice if his son went missing," Kurt said.

"No, not that, I just…" Blaine said. He sighed and slid his hands into his back pockets. "Do you…do you want to start looking into…you know…getting a baby?"

Kurt's arms inadvertently tightened around the baby, who squeaked in protest. "Blaine, this isn't a matter of just accidentally forgetting birth control," he said. "We have to find a surrogate, or an adoption center, or…or…this is…Blaine, this is a big deal…do you really…"

Blaine knelt down in front of the rocking chair and put his hands on Kurt's knees. "Kurt Elijah Hummel-Anderson, will you have a baby with me?" he asked.

Kurt nodded wordlessly, his eyes wide and already red-rimmed. Blaine leaned up to kiss him.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Oh my goodness. I am still not entirely able to speak at the moment. WHY? BECAUSE BLAINE TOLD KURT HE LOVED HIM. AND KURT SAID HE LOVED HIM BACK.

LIFE IS GOOD, Y'ALL.

And the timing of this drabble is perfect, because all I can think about is Kurt and Blaine and Rachel living together while they go to school, until Rachel realizes she's a third wheel and moves out. And the boys get married. And have babies. And live happily ever after. The end.

Now I'm going to go frolic in fluffy good feelings of Klaine. It'll be amazing.

(PS: Yes, there was a How to Train Your Dragon reference in the previous drabble! THAT MOVIE IS AMAZING. YAY.)


	8. Kurt Goes Trick or Treating

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Burt stared down at his toddler. "So…uh…who are you dressed up as, scooter?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.<p>

The small mop of synthetic red hair parted as Kurt pushed strands of his long wig away from his face, revealing his big blue eyes and wide smile. "Ariel, Daddy!" he said. "Ariel!"

Burt stared at his small son. "Mollie?" he called.

"What?"

"Why's our son in a dress?"

He heard Mollie's light step on the stairs. "Kurt isn't in a dress," she said.

"I'm wearin' fins, Daddy!" Kurt chirped.

Mollie smoothed the skirt of her full blue dress. "I already told you about this," she said. "Kurt wanted to be Ariel this year."

Burt frowned. "I don't remember this," he said.

"That's because you were reading Popular Mechanics at the time," Mollie reminded him. She handed Kurt is candy bucket. "Now, are you going to go trick-or-treating with us?"

"Fine," Burt sighed. "Kurt, kiddo, you gonna put a coat on?"

"No, Daddy!" Kurt said, horrified. "I have my pretty costume on."

"Little boys should wear coats when it's cold out," Burt said.

Kurt stamped his tiny foot, clad in an aqua jelly shoe. "No, Daddy," he said. "I'm sixteen years old, I'm not a child!"

Mollie laughed. "You watch this movie way too much, KK," she said.

"I dread the day you turn into a teenager," Burt sighed. He held out his big, rough hand to take his son's tiny soft one. "Let's go, scooter, before all the good candy's gone."

They spent two hours walking up and down the streets of their neighborhood, until Kurt's candy bucket was full. By the time they were ready to go home, Kurt had fallen asleep in Burt's arms, his cheek pillowed on his father's shoulder and his red Ariel wig clutched in his small hand. Mollie carried his candy bucket and occasionally reached up to smooth Kurt's ruffled brown hair. Burt carried him all the way home, glancing down every so often at his sleeping toddler.

Sure, it might be a little weird that his boy wanted to look like a half-fish princess for Halloween, but he was still pretty cute.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

And the award for best daddy ever goes to Burt Hummel!

Also, this is pretty much the cutest mental image ever.


	9. Push It II

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Blaine," Kurt hissed. "Stop staring at my hips."<p>

Blaine blinked. "Uh…what?" he mumbled.

"You're staring at my hips," Kurt said, eyes facing forward as they stood on the risers for rehearsal. "Stop it."

"I…uh, wasn't," Blaine said.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You are so staring at my hips," he whispered. "Ever since you saw that…that video, you've been-"

"I just didn't know you could do things like that," Blaine blurted out. "You were all…and then it was just…I don't understand. And by the way, what were you wearing? A fanny pack?"

Kurt blushed beet red. "It was a poor choice," he said primly. "I thought it would…accentuate things."

Blaine choked. "Oh, there was no need to accentuate," he mumbled, shifting a little.

"Mr. Anderson, Mr. Hummel, is there are a reason you two are whispering during rehearsal?" Thad interrupted. "And why are you both bright red"

A wicked grin spread across Wes's face. "Oh, I think I know," he said. "Let me illuminate this situation…"

"No!" Kurt and Blaine blurted out simultaneously.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

A lot of people wanted me to write things related to the Push It scene, so I wrote a tiny follow up.

It really amuses me to see how short some of my early drabbles were, because believe me, the longer I linger on Tumblr, the longer my drabbles get! I have some that are four pages long. Which, admittedly, is too long for a drabble, but in my mind they're not long enough to be a oneshot.

So I'll just keep on sticking them here. I hope you don't mind.**  
><strong>


	10. Jo and Lucy

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Oh my god, Lucy, is it ready yet?" Jo whined, leaning over the back of the couch.<p>

"In a minute," Lucy said serenely. She opened the oven door and peeked inside. "You can't rush a good lasagna, or it comes out all wrong."

"Ugh," Jo complained, tossing her Cosmopolitan magazine on the floor. "I would be satisfied with a half-decent lasagna if it means I could eat right now."

"Hey!" Lucy said, brandishing a spatula. "I do not make a half-decent lasagna. It's impeccable or nothing."

"Just cook the stupid thing!" Jo whined.

"Patience, giant grasshopper," the petite redhead said. "Be patient. Just a little longer."

Jo returned to sulking on the couch. The rest of the Trevelyan family was out of town for the weekend, and the two girls had taken it upon themselves to leave the St. Liliana's campus for some peace and quiet. But the peace and quiet ended abruptly when someone banged on the front door.

Both girls jumped. "Oh my god, Jo, you get it," Lucy whispered loudly, ducking behind the kitchen counter.

Jo slid to the floor. "Why me?" she whispered back.

Lucy peeked over the counter. "Because you're bigger than me, and you can take the rapist down better than I can," she hissed.

Jo frowned. "Rapist? Really?"

"Just answer the door, Joanna."

Jo sidled up to the door and peeked out the window, then paused and rolled her eyes. "Well, Lu, feast your eyes upon your rapist," she said, yanking the door open.

Wes and David stumbled into the foyer, both of them dripping wet. "Oh my god, babe, thank you for having mercy on our souls," Wes gasped.

Jo hopped back. "What on earth happened?" she asked.

"David, why are you all wet?" Lucy demanded, still brandishing her spatula.

"It's a long story, but trust me, I'm never letting a Warblers' rehearsal run late again," Wes said, wringing out his wet blazer.

"Yeah, we won't let you," David retorted.

"Well, come inside and dry off," Jo said, kissing Wes lightly.

David glanced over his shoulder. "Kurt and Blaine should be in here soon," he said. "They were just getting out of the- oh my god!"

"Oh my god what?" Lucy called from the kitchen.

Blaine walked slowly into the house, Kurt leaning heavily on his shoulder. Kurt's gray uniform pants were smeared with mud from his calf to his hip. "Someone decided to fall," Blaine said.

"I didn't decide, Blaine," Kurt said through gritted teeth.

"Oh my god. Lu!" Jo called.

"What is it now?" Lucy called back, sounding a little grumpy. She untied her apron and tossed it over the back of the couch. "If this makes me burn my- oh my god, Kurt."

"Everyone keeps saying that," Kurt sighed, still leaning on Blaine's shoulder.

Lucy squeezed David's shoulder. "Honey, can you go in the older boys' room and get some dry clothes for you guys before you flood my house?" she said.

"I'm on it," David said.

"You keep boys around here?" Kurt asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Just my brothers," Lucy said. "I have six of them. Three older, three younger."

"Oh," Kurt said.

Wes shut the front door before the rain could pour in. "Kurt, are you all right?" he asked.

"I think he just twisted his ankle," Blaine said, keeping his arm tight around Kurt.

"It's not that bad," Kurt said, closing his eyes.

Jo leaned over to Blaine. "He's lying, isn't he?" she whispered. Blaine nodded.

"Okay," David said as he walked back into the living room, several articles of clothing piled in his arms. "I got some of Gabriel's stuff for Kurt, and I think Riley's things will work for me and Wes."

Lucy sighed heavily. Jo patted the top of her head. "Don't worry, little one, I'll help with the laundry before your parents come back," she said.

"Oh, good," Lucy said. She reached over and started to tug Kurt's soaked, muddy blazer off his arms. "Once you guys are in dry clothes we can have dinner."

Wes brightened. "Dinner?" he said, his tie halfway undone.

"I thought I smelled lasagna," David grinned.

Kurt squirmed a little as Lucy unfastened the buttons of his shirt. "Lu's lasagna is famous," Blaine explained. "It's perfect, every time."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Lucy said, smirking a little.

Jo gathered the boys' wet clothes up as they changed into the dry tees and sweatpants. "Don't tell her anything else, you guys, I have to live with her," she said. "If her ego gets any bigger, there won't be room for the two of us in our dorm."

"Oh, shut up, Jo," Lucy said. "If you keep holding me up, my lasagna will burn. And then there will really be no living with me after that."

Before long the four boys had changed, Jo had hung their wet things in the laundry room, and Wes and David were trying to cut pieces of the lasagna. Blaine and Lucy got Kurt settled on the living room couch with an ice pack on his ankle.

Lucy leaned over the arm of the couch and stroked Kurt's wet hair off his forehead. "Poor baby," she cooed. "Do you need anything? Some Tylenol or Advil or something?"

Kurt looked up at her, his lashes shielding his bright eyes. "I think I'm all right, but thank you," he said.

Blaine settled next to Kurt on the couch, lifting his swollen ankle onto his knee. "He'll take two Tylenol with a glass of water, but keep a third on standby just in case," he said.

"I can do that," Lucy said. She leaned back. "David?"

"I'm on it, I'm on it."

Jo walked into the living room with two plates of lasagna in her hands. "Eat up, boys," she said. She handed one to Kurt. "Especially you, Skinny McScrawny."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks, Jo," he said.

"Take a bite, take a bite," Lucy entreated. "It's really good, I promise."

Blaine grinned as Kurt obeyed. "It's good, isn't it?" he said. "Lucy's been making lasagna since she was ten."

"Nine," she corrected.

"Oh, pardon me," Blaine grinned. "Since she was nine."

Jo ruffled Blaine's damp curls. "You're just sucking up to Lu in hopes she'll give you the leftovers," she said.

"Guilty."

"Hey!" Wes bellowed from the kitchen. "She promised them to me!"

"This…this is really good," Kurt said. "I've never managed to make a lasagna that I was happy with."

Lucy tilted his head back and kissed his forehead. "I'll tell you my secret at some point," she said.

"Hey!" David complained, scowling. "She won't even tell me her secrets!"

"That's because Kurt, unlike you, can actually cook," Lucy said.

"I can cook!"

"You can make macaroni and cheese from the blue box, baby."

"That totally counts!"

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I will never refuse a prompt for Jo and Lucy! Never! They're so much fun to write.

I tweaked Lucy's family life just a wee bit from the original drabble. She has two brothers in college (Jack and Riley) and a brother in high school (Gabriel). Then she has three younger brothers- Andrew (age 12), Christopher (age 7), and Toby (age 3). And then poor, poor Louisa is the only girl, right in the middle.

But it's okay, because it means she gets her own room, and she's kind of spoiled since she's the only girl.

(Have I ever mentioned that Lucy's full name is Louisa? Louisa Emilia Trevelyan. And Jo's is Joanna Marie Neely.)

I just really, really love writing Tumblr drabbles...

This has been the most scattered of all scatterbrained author notes. Yay!


	11. Cannablaine

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Kurt smiled to himself as he played the familiar melody to Sara Bareilles "Love Song." As much as he loved playing his mother's little upright piano, he had to admit that the tone of the Dalton baby grand sounded much better.<p>

Vaguely he heard the door behind him creak open, but he ignored it. It was probably some piano student who'd left their book behind or something.

"…'cause you asked for it, 'cause you need one…" he sang lightly, almost absentmindedly.

A shadow fell over the pristine black and white keys. Kurt drew his fingers back sharply, breaking off in mid-measure. "What are you-"

Suddenly he felt a firm pair of hands close over his shoulders and draw him back. "Oh my god, Blaine!" he shrieked.

Blaine laughed and smacked warm open-mouthed kisses on the side of his neck. "Mwa-ha-ha," he mumbled between kisses. "Nom nom nom. I totally got you."

Blaine's warm breath tickled his neck. "Stop it, Blaine!" Kurt giggled, drawing his hands up in reflex. "Stop, that tickles!"

Blaine blew a raspberry on the side of his neck. "That's what I was going for," he smiled. "Mm, you taste good."

"Please don't eat me," Kurt laughed, reaching up to tangle his fingers in his boyfriend's hair. Blaine just smiled and kissed him thoughtfully in the soft warm spot where Kurt's neck met his collarbone as he twined his arms around his waist.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

This was totally inspired by Muchacha10's little Cannablaine comic (you can find it on her Deviantart page, I believe). It was just so sweet and cute that when it popped up on my tumblr dash I was like "MUST WRITE A THING."

After all, we can never have too much Kurt and Blaine cuteness in this world, can we?

I SUBMIT THAT WE CANNOT.

Also, if y'all ever have any ideas for drabbles you want me to write, feel free to leave them in my ask box on Tumblr! That's the easiest way for me to write them. My tumblr name is redbullandcupcakebatter, and I love talking to people on there!


	12. Little Blaine

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>He just wanted to hug the puppy.<p>

He was five years old, frightfully curious, and he had never seen a dog so little and sleepy and snuggly before. He plopped down in the tall grass beside it while the adults chatted and the kids shrieked on the swingset and the grill popped and crackled, filling the late summer air with the heady scent of fresh burgers, and cicadas buzzed overhead.

"Hi, puppy," he cooed, petting one clumsy hand over the beagle's head. "Hi. Hi, puppy."

The puppy yipped a little, high pitched and adorable, and he leaned over to scoop it into his lap. "Hi, puppy," he repeated, brushing his hand over the thick warm velvet of the puppy's head and back. "You like me, uh-huh?"

He wrapped his small arms around the puppy as it squirmed in his grasp. "No, no playing, I wanna hug you," he objected, hugging the small beagle to his chest tighter and tighter. "No, don't run away, I like you, I like you."

The puppy wriggled harder, yelping and kicking at his chubby little stomach, its tiny nails catching his skin through his tee shirt. "No, no, no," he scolded, "don't run away. I like you. Don't you like me?"

The puppy fought his hold, its yelps giving way to sharp high barks, scrabbling harder and harder against him until finally, with a sharp snap, it darted its head down and caught his small forearm between its teeth. He dropped the puppy with a startled yell that gave way to sobs; the puppy romped away through the grass, chipper and unconcerned.

"Oh my god, Blaine," his mother said, crossing the yard to pick him up and pull him away from the puppy. "Oh, god. Jack, the dog bit him."

He struggled against his mother's hold as she examined the bite on his forearm, perfect little puncture wounds with tiny drops of red blood welling up. He cried as she hugged him in an attempt to soothe his tears, but he only bawled harder, stretching out his hands.

The puppy's owner took the plump little thing by the collar and tugged it towards the garage, disappearing from view and shutting the puppy into a kennel before closing the overhead doors, clanging and chugging until it shut tight.

"Blaine, stop crying," his mother said, impatiently adjusting him on her hip in an attempt to make him stay still. "It's just a little bite, honey lamb. You're fine."

Blaine sobbed as his mother carried him into the house and the grownups fussed over him, cleaning and bandaging the stinging red marks. They even gave him a popsicle before his dinner to placate him, but it didn't do anything to help.

They didn't understand that he wasn't crying because the puppy bit him.

He cried because he didn't understand why the puppy didn't love him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

This stemmed from a discussion I watched unfold on tumblr, about how Blaine was the type of child that would hold on tightly to birds when they tried to fly away and then cry and cry and cry when he realized he'd accidentally strangled them. It's...it's a difficult conversation to explain, but it made sense. And it made me want to write about a little bitty Blaine who just wanted to love and be loved, and cries when he doesn't know why he isn't.**  
><strong>


	13. I Think I Am Concussed

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Finn was used to be the clumsy one in the family.<p>

His childhood memories included ever-present scabs on his knees and elbows, routine trips to the emergency room and doctor's office, and something in a cast nearly every summer. Even now, at the age of seventeen, people warned him around sharp knives and cautioned him about slippery floors. It got a little old, to be honest. Especially since Kurt was allowed to whatever, without the same silly warnings.

Things balanced a little after a particular Saturday morning, however.

Burt had just left for the garage, Carole was at work, and Finn was sitting at the kitchen table slurping at Captain Crunch when he heard it.

"Uh…Dad?"

Finn raised his head slowly. "Dadsawork," he slurred through a mouthful of cereal. He swallowed. "What do you want?"

"Um…Finn? Can you…come up here?"

"Why?" Finn called.

"Um…I'm bleeding."

Finn nearly turned his cereal bowl over. "You're what?" he demanded, running up the stairs two at a time.

"I was trying…to get a box…off my shelf…and…I think…"

Finn rounded the corner into Kurt's bedroom to find his younger stepbrother sitting on the floor outside his open closet doors, half-dressed and barefoot, surrounded by shards of broken glass and the contents of an overturned box, staring blankly as blood trickled down his face. "I believe I am concussed," Kurt said, blinking.

"You're what?" Finn repeated, kneeling beside him.

"I believe…I am concussed," Kurt said again, staring into his closet.

Finn probed at the bloody cut on Kurt's forehead. "Okay. You think you've got a concussion," he said. He'd had concussions plenty of times before, he knew what they felt like. He could do this. "How's your head feeling?"

"Like…someone cracked it open, and then…then stuffed it with socks," Kurt said.

"Sounds about right," Finn said. He pulled Kurt's eyelids down gently, trying to get a better look at his pupils. "Are you dizzy? Nauseous?"

"Uh…huh," Kurt said, allowing Finn to rub at his temples. "Do we need…one of those…hospital cars?" He paused and frowned. "No, that's not what it's called."

Finn smiled. "It's an ambulance, buddy," he said. He investigated the gash on Kurt's temple. "Okay, it doesn't look bad, but you're a bleeder. You don't need stitches."

"So no emergency room?" Kurt said hopefully.

"No emergency room," Finn reassured him. "But I think you'd better take it easy today."

Kurt's mouth dropped open. "But Blaine and I were going on a date!" he whined. "I planned a picnic! It was perfect!"

"Perfect until you gave yourself a concussion," Finn said. He took Kurt by the arms. "Come on, back into bed."

"No," Kurt protested. "No, my day was going to be perfect. I'm fine. I'm fine, Finn. Finn…"

Finn ignored Kurt's protests and hustled him back into his bed. "There you go," he said, propping up pillows behind Kurt's back. "Now stay here. I'm going to get something for your head. Don't bleed on your blankets."

"Oh, god," Kurt mumbled, putting his hand to his bleeding head.

Finn went into his parents' room to get a damp washcloth and the first aid kit, then headed back to Kurt's room only to find his brother trying to struggle out of bed. "What are you doing?" Finn asked, half amused.

"I have a date," Kurt said, dazed. "I want to go on my date."

"No, no, I don't think so, buddy," Finn said, gently easing him back onto the bed. "I'm sure Blaine will be happy to come here and visit you instead."

"But…but…my date!" Kurt wailed.

Finn pressed the washcloth to the gash on Kurt's forehead, earning a startled yelp. "See, you need to stay home," he said, guiding Kurt's hand to hold the cloth in place. "We've got to get that bleeding stopped."

Kurt looked up at him pitifully. "Am I bleeding a lot?" he asked in a small voice.

Finn eyed the rivulets of red running down Kurt's cheek and neck. "No, no, it's not bad at all," he reassured him. "Here, uh…let me."

He gently wiped the blood away from Kurt's face as Kurt closed his eyes, long lashes brushing against his cheeks. "You look a little better now," Finn said. "Here, just press this against your head so the bleeding will stop."

Kurt obeyed, leaning back against the pillows. "I'm getting sleepy, Finn," he said. "Can I sleep?"

"No, no, don't sleep," Finn said. "Sleep bad. Awake good."

Kurt frowned. "I'm not a baby, Finn," he retorted.

"I know," Finn said. "Just…stay awake, okay? I don't want Mom and Dad to come home and find you in a coma. They'll blame me, and I don't think I could handle that." He patted Kurt's knee. "Want me to get you an ice pack and some Tylenol?"

"Yes, please," Kurt sighed.

Finn squeezed his knee. "And maybe call your boyfriend to come over?" he suggested.

"Definitely, please," Kurt said.

Finn grinned, then paused. Ordinarily he would reach over to ruffle Kurt's hair, but that didn't seem like a good idea with a concussion and all. So instead he just leaned over and kissed Kurt lightly on the cheek. "I'll be right back," he promised. Kurt just smiled at him, still slightly dazed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I actually published this just moments ago! I thought I would go ahead and stick it up here.

Oh, Furt. It warms my heart.

Maybe I should expand upon this one...


	14. I'm Yours

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt laughed. "All right, all right, who else needs me to play their accompaniment?" he asked, running his fingers up and down the keys of his mother's old piano in a light scale.<p>

Rachel leaned over his shoulder, dropping her Broadway ballad book open on the rack. "If you could just run me through my piece one more time-"

"No," Kurt said flatly, closing the book and holding it up. "No, I already did this once."

"But-"

"No. You know how I feel about Phantom of the Opera. Especially Phantom of the Opera 2: Electric Boogaloo," Kurt said.

"It's called Love Never Dies," Rachel grumbled, grabbing the book from Kurt's hand and hugging it to her chest like a baby. "And Andrew Lloyd Webber is a god. A musical theater _god_."

Mercedes rested her chin on Kurt's shoulder. "Let's see…you've played for me, Tina, and Santana…you would have played for Brittany, but she never found sheet music…"

"I didn't know you had to have special books," Brittany objected. "Brad knows everything. He's like a human jukebox, but you don't have to put quarters in him."

"All that's left is me," Quinn said, crossing lightly to the piano and handing him her packet of sheet music.

Kurt scanned it quickly. "Ah, 'I'm Yours', excellent choice," he said. "Going for a little more Jason Mraz, are we?"

"I like his style," Quinn said. "Do you think you could sing it with me? I haven't tried singing yet."

Kurt spread the sheet music out on the rack. "Well, I'll do my best," he said. "Step on up, Miss Fabray."

She obeyed as he started the intro, nodding to her when they reached her cue. "Well, you done done me and you bet I felt it, I tried to be chill, but you're so hot that I melted," they sang together, Kurt guiding Quinn through the lyrics. "I fell right through the cracks, now I'm trying to get back."

Kurt played the piano arrangement easily, smiling a little to himself. His mother taught him to play the piano when he was little; he had taken lessons every Thursday of his life until he had to go to Dalton. And while the Dalton baby grands were fabulous, nothing could ever sound as perfect as playing his mother's tiny, ancient, twangy upright.

He harmonized on the first run through the chorus, his voice lilting lightly over Quinn's. She leaned on the top of the piano, smiling at something above his head. "Listen to the music of the moment, people, dance and sing," they sang. "We're just one big family, and-"

Suddenly a third voice joined theirs, deeper and richer and playful. "-it's our God-forsaken right to be loved, loved, loved, loved, loved…"

Kurt glanced up, startled. Blaine strolled into the study, grinning ear-to-ear as he balanced a ukulele, his fingers strumming it easily. "What are you-"

"So I won't, hesitate no more, no more," Blaine sang, his smile widening even further. "It cannot wait, I'm sure."

Kurt looked at Quinn, who had stopped singing and was simply smiling at him. "What's going-"

Quinn leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "You'll see," she whispered, before patting him on the shoulder and slipping out of the room.

Blaine winked at Quinn as she followed the girls out of the room and closed the door. "There's no need to complicate, our time is short, this is our fate, I'm yours."

Kurt could barely keep his fingers steady on the keyboard as he stared at Blaine, eyes wide. "What are you doing?" he said.

Blaine leaned over the top of the piano, still cheerfully strumming his ukulele. "D-d-do do you, but do you, d-d-do, but do you want to come on?" he sang. "Scooch on over closer, dear, and I will nibble your ear."

Kurt tilted his head to the side quizzically as Blaine spun lightly off the side of the piano and scooted onto the bench beside him, hips pressed together tight. "I've been spending way too long checking my tongue in the mirror, and bending over backwards just to try to see it clearer…but my breath fogged up the glass, and so I drew a new face and I laughed."

Blaine sidled closer as they sang together, voices harmonizing with easy grace. Kurt ducked his head and smiled, feeling his cheeks reddening. "But I won't hesitate no more, no more…it cannot wait, I'm yours," they sang.

Blaine's fingers paused long enough on the strings to lift Kurt's chin, their piano and ukulele accompaniment fading away for the last lines. "This is, this is, this is our fate, I'm yours," they sang softly, gazes locked.

The room fell silent as they smiled at each other almost foolishly. "You do realize this is the perfect opportunity to kiss me," Kurt breathed.

"I know," Blaine said, setting the ukulele down on the top of the piano. "But I wanted to do something first."

He scooted even closer and took Kurt's hands in his, his brown eyes bright. He opened his mouth, then paused and shut it. "I think…I think I forgot my whole speech," he said. He ducked his head. "Oh my god. You're going to think I'm so stupid. I knew I should have written it out on note cards…"

Kurt cleared his throat and squeezed Blaine's hands, giving an impatient little wiggle. "How about you…sum it up," he suggested.

Blaine rubbed his thumb along the back of Kurt's hand. "Well," he said slowly. "I guess, to sum it up…I really wanted to say…that…" He looked up, the corners of his mouth lifting. "I love you."

Kurt's heart skipped a beat. Or several.

"Kurt?" Blaine ventured. "Kurt, babe, are you still with me?"

Kurt inhaled sharply. "Yes," he said. "Yes. Definitely. Still here."

Blaine squeezed his hands. "So?" he said hopefully.

"So?" Kurt said, blinking rapidly, still lost in a daze entitled _my boyfriend loves me._

"So…what do you think?" Blaine asked. "Is it…is it too soon? Or do you-"

"Yes," Kurt interrupted. "I mean…no. I mean…I love you. Too, I mean. I love you too."

The smile broke over Blaine's face like a sunrise. "Really?" he said. "I mean…yes. Good. I mean…"

Kurt rested his hand on Blaine's knee and leaned in to kiss him firmly. "I love you," he said.

Blaine nuzzled Kurt's nose. "I love you too," he said.

"Smile a little harder, Blaine, I think your face might split in two," Kurt teased.

"Can't help it, you make me happy," Blaine said, and he pulled Kurt in for a long, lazy kiss.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

IT'S SO FLUFFY I AM GOING TO DIE.

This was written pre-season finale, for my darling Dana's birthday. She requested a drabble with "I'm Yours" and Klaine...and I believe she requested a ukulele being present as well. I think she liked it, and I hope you like it too!


	15. Blaine Hates the Dentist

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine jostled his knee up and down, hands knotted tightly in his lap. Without looking up from his People magazine from 2004, Kurt reached over and patted his thigh. "You're going to be fine," he reassured him. "Plenty of people get root canals."<p>

Blaine said nothing, and his incessant leg-jiggling continued steadily. Kurt sighed and flipped a page.

A nice motherly looking hygienist in lavender scrubs opened the door. "Blaine?" she called.

Blaine continued to jiggle his leg, staring straight ahead. "Blaine," Kurt said, squeezing his arm. "Darling, that's you."

"Oh," Blaine said, jumping to his feet and nearly tripping over his shoes. "Oh. Okay." He started towards the door and paused. "Aren't…aren't you coming with me?"

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "Do you need me back there?" he asked.

"I would really appreciate it," Blaine said. "If…if you don't mind."

"I don't," Kurt said, setting the magazine aside and following him into the back. The family dentist's office was a nice cheerful place, painted in bright colors and decorated in cartoon posters about dental hygiene. Blaine did not seem comforted.

The nurse led them to an examination room. "All right, sweetie, lie down and the dentist will be here in just a minute," she said. "Oh, good, you brought someone with you."

Kurt frowned as she left. "Wait. Why is it good you brought someone?" he asked.

Blaine gingerly sat down in the reclining chair, already gripping the armrests. "I sort of have a…reputation at the dentist's," he admitted.

"What kind of reputation?" Kurt asked warily, leaning over him.

"Freaking out and biting people's hands?" Blaine ventured.

Kurt laughed. "Blaine, no one like the dentist when they're little, it's just…" His voice trailed off. "You did this recently, did you?"

Blaine closed his eyes tightly. "I don't like the dentist," he said. "It hurts. They hold my mouth open too far, and I can't swallow, and they keep sticking their hands on my teeth."

"You don't mind it when it's my tongue on your teeth," Kurt said slyly, leaning further to nibble on Blaine's ear.

Blaine folded his hands over his stomach. "Your tongue is different," he said primly. "Your tongue doesn't push too hard or have sharp fingernails or taste like rubber gloves."

"True," Kurt admitted.

The door to the examination room swept open. "All right, Blaine, let's get this started," the doctor said briskly, rifling through Blaine's paperwork before setting it aside. "Now, I know this procedure is rather uncomfortable, but try not to bite anyone this time, all right?"

Blaine looked up at Kurt with an expression that said _see? I will never live this down. _Kurt sat down beside him and patted his hand sympathetically.

Honestly, Kurt wasn't exactly sure what to expect, but he didn't expect Blaine to grab his hand the second that the assistant flipped on the overhead light. And he didn't expect Blaine to close his eyes so tightly when they got out the tray of shining silver instruments. And he definitely didn't expect Blaine to clamp down on his hand when the first syringe of Novocain emerged.

"Hey," Kurt whispered, scooting closer. "Hey, it's okay. You're fine."

The dentist picked up the syringe. "All right, Blaine, open your mouth," he said. "This'll sting a little."

Blaine kept his eyes closed. Kurt squeezed his hand. "It's okay," he murmured into Blaine's ear, stroking his dark curls off his forehead. "It's okay. I'm here. I'm right here."

He felt Blaine tense up as the tip of the needle touched his gums. "It's okay," Kurt repeated. A few stray tears squeezed out. "Oh, god. No. No, no, no, no, no, no. Don't cry. You are not allowed to cry, Blaine Anderson. Understand me? No crying."

"There," the dentist said, satisfied, as he drew back with the empty syringe in hand. "Excellent. Good job, Blaine. We'll give that a moment to take, and then we'll start the procedure."

Kurt touched his forehead to Blaine's. "You're fine," he cooed. "I'm right here. You're going to be fine, okay? You'll be fine."

The next hour was most likely the longest in Kurt's life. He had never realized that watching his boyfriend cry silently through a root canal could possibly make his heart hurt so badly or tire him out so completely, and yet it did. Kurt tried not to look at the dentist as he worked over Blaine's mouth, choosing instead to tuck his chin against Blaine's shoulder and whisper a steady stream of comforting nonsense interspersed with light kisses to his cheek.

"All right, Blaine, you're all done," the dentist said jovially. "Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He patted Blaine on the shoulder. "I'll make sure your files are in order and you'll be on your way home in no time."

Blaine let out a slow, shuddering breath as the dentist left, cracking his eyes open. "My mouf hurts," he mumbled around the gauze.

"I know," Kurt said, nuzzling his cheek. "I know. But you did good." He took a tissue from the box on the counter and dabbed it at Blaine's damp eyes. "And now I will take you home, and we'll watch movies, and I'll make you something to eat that won't hurt. All right? How does that sound?"

"Pu'ing?" Blaine asked hopefully.

"Yes, darling, I will make you all the pudding your heart desires," Kurt reassured him, smoothing his curls with a fond smile.

"Bu's'otch?"

"…what?"

"Bu'ers'otch?"

"Honey, I can't-"

"_Budders'otch._"

"Oh. Oh!" Kurt laughed. "Yes. Yes, you can have butterscotch pudding." He squeezed Blaine's hand tightly. "I would kiss you, but I don't think it would go well."

Blaine flashed him a crooked half-numb smile, tired but relieved.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Poor Blainers. :(

Related: butterscotch pudding is the only kind I will eat.


	16. Kurt Hates Getting Blood Taken

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"There you are, Mr. Anderson," the volunteer said cheerfully, tucking a bandaid over the small red blot on Blaine's arm. "You're all set. We'll get you a snack and let you rest for a little bit, and then you can be on your way."<p>

Blaine leaned back in his chair with a smile. "Lucky," Wes said, nibbling on his cookie. "It took them at least ten minutes before they could even get the needle in my arm."

"I've got good veins," Blaine said, flexing his fingers. The bloodmobile came to Dalton every spring, and while it wasn't really his idea of a good time, the Warblers always participated, and at least it was nice to know he'd helped a good cause. Besides, free cookie.

"Mr. Chang, you're free to go," the volunteer said, patting him on the shoulder. "Send in the next student as you leave, if you don't mind."

He hopped out of the chair and offered Blaine a salute. "See you in a bit, sir," Wes offered cheerfully.

Kurt peeked into the room as Wes left. "Hi," he said. "I'm next, I think?"

"Come on in and take a seat," the volunteer said.

Blaine grinned. "Hey, there, stranger," he said, leaning up for a kiss.

Kurt pecked him obediently on the lips. "Hi," he said. "Are you okay? Any dizziness?"

"I'm fine," Blaine smiled. "Don't worry about me."

"All right, Mr. Hummel, are you ready for this?" the volunteer grinned.

Kurt seemed to turn a little paler as he sat down and slid out of his blazer. "Uh-huh," he said, holding out his arm.

The volunteer rolled up his sleeve with industrial precision and wrapped the cuff tightly. "Now, make a fist," he instructed.

Blaine watched Kurt close his eyes tightly as the volunteer swabbed his white skin with an alcohol patch and inserted the needle. "There we are," the volunteer said, satisfied. "You'll do just fine. Sit tight, I'll be right back."

The volunteer strolled through the back door. Kurt took a deep shuddering breath, his eyes going wide. "Are you all right?" Blaine asked.

"I'm fine," Kurt said. "I'm fine. There's just a needle in my arm. And there is blood. There is blood going up that tube and…and…_Blaine, get it out of me, get it out of me now_!"

Blaine stood up carefully. "Kurt, it's okay," he soothed, making his way over to his boyfriend. "You're fine. You're fine. I'm right here. Nothing's going to happen to you."

Kurt stared at him wild-eyed, turning whiter by the second as his chest heaved. "I am not fine," he said. "I'm not. I'm not. Get it out of me. Get it off. Get it off, get it off, get it off, get it…it…"

Suddenly Kurt's eyes rolled back in his head.

"Oh god," Blaine stammered, putting his arms out in just enough time to catch him as he slumped forward.

Luckily for both of them, the volunteer walked back in at just the right time. "Oh, we've got a fainter," he said. He tipped Kurt's chair back and maneuvered him into lying down. "That happens sometimes. Oh, look, his bag's full."

Blaine leaned over Kurt as the volunteer worked over his arm. Kurt blinked rapidly. "Whuh ha'end?" he mumbled.

"You blacked out, babe," Blaine said, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. "Just for a second, but you're fine. You're okay."

Kurt's eyes shot open. "Oh god, get it out of me!" he begged. "Get it out! Get it out!"

"It's out," the volunteer said. "You're fine. Let me get you some water and a cookie."

Kurt sagged back. "A cookie is not going to make this better," he mumbled.

"Poor baby," Blaine said, pressing a kiss to Kurt's clammy forehead. "Do you have a thing about blood?"

Kurt closed his eyes. "When I was little, I had blood taken and a nurse told me to watch the blood go up the tube," he said. "I passed out. I sort have a…a tendency for fainting now."

Blaine kissed his temple. "You could have told me that," he chided gently. "You didn't have to go through this."

"I would have felt guilty," Kurt said plaintively. "All the other Warblers were doing it."

The volunteer stepped cheerfully back into the room. "All right, boys," he said. "One cookie for you…and two for you, since you're a fainter."

Kurt blushed in embarrassment. "I'm fine," he said.

"No, you're not," Blaine said. He unwrapped the sugar cookie and broke off a piece. "Open your mouth."

"Blaine," Kurt whined. "I am not a little bird for you to mother."

Blaine waved the cookie piece in front of his face. "Open your mouth or I'll start making airplane noises," he threatened.

"Blaine, I don't-"

"Look, Kurt, the 747 is coming in for a landing, it's-"

"Fine," Kurt huffed, crossing his arms and opening his mouth.

Blaine fed him the bit of a cookie. "See? That wasn't so hard," he grinned.

"You're so embarrassing," Kurt mumbled, but he smiled as Blaine bent to kiss him on the cheek.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Sadly, this is based off of personal experience. I'm totally a fainter when it comes to getting blood taken. Sad, but true.

Anyways, this drabble and the one before it were prompted at the same time, so i sort of wrote them as companion pieces of sorts. But yeah, it's basically our boys being all comforty and stuff.

I write a lot of that, apparently. And I don't know why...

In any case, I hope you enjoy this collection of drabbles! I have about 70-80 already written, so you should stay quite entertained! And if you want to prompt another drabble, go to my tumblr (my screenname is redbullandcupcakebatter) and leave it in my ask box. (If you leave it here...I'll totally forget! Remind me in both spots, I guess; I'm quite forgetful!)


	17. Kurt and Lucy

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"So," Lucy said, licking cookie dough off the spoon. "Would you like to tell me what's wrong?"<p>

"Nothing's wrong," Kurt said. He took the spoon out of her hand. "Get the chocolate chips, please?"

She raised an eyebrow and leaned her elbows on the kitchen counter. "Kurt," she said. "You invited me over to bake cookies. You don't bake things unless you're stressed out about something."

"I'm not stressed," he said, his voice tight and high. He grabbed the bag of chocolate chips and dumped the whole thing in the mixing bowl.

"Kurt," Lucy warned. "You'd better tell me. I have ways of making you talk."

He flipped the mixer on. "Can't hear you," he called over the whirring beaters.

She reached around him and flipped it off. "Spill," she ordered, pinning him to the counter.

Kurt sighed, his mouth screwing up. "They think I'm cheating," he blurted out.

"What?" Lucy said, letting go.

He took a deep breath. "Finn caught me at a motel with Sam, and he thinks I'm cheating on Blaine, even Mercedes thinks I'm cheating, but I'm not, I'm really not," he said.

Lucy took a step back and slipped her hands in his. "Kurt, sweetheart, take a breath," she said gently.

"I'm not cheating," he said.

"I know," she said. She picked up the mixing bowl and tugged him towards the living room. "I know you're not cheating, honey. Let's sit down and you can tell me about it, okay?"

She guided him to the couch and made him sit down, pressing the bowl of cookie dough in his hands. "Take a spoonful and start from the beginning," she told him, sitting down cross-legged across from him.

He sighed and took a small bite. "So my friend Sam-"

"Which one is Sam again?" she asked, scooping up several chocolate chips.

"The one with the big lips and the dyed blond hair," he said.

"Ah. Carry on."

"My friend Sam moved here from Tennessee last summer, because his dad got a new job, but he lost it back in January." Kurt took a deep breath. "They got evicted and they're living in a motel."

"That's awful," Lucy said. "Is it just Sam and his parents?"

Kurt shook his head. "He has a brother and sister, Stevie and Stacie," he said. "They're seven."

"So five of them living in a motel," Lucy said. She picked up his spoon, scooped up a little bit of cookie dough, and held it out. "Keep going."

Kurt obediently ate the bite she offered. "He hasn't told anybody about it. I found out on accident," he said. "He's got a job delivering pizzas. Sometimes he has to take the little ones with him because his parents are both working part-time jobs and they can't watch them."

"Poor things," Lucy said sympathetically.

Kurt shrugged miserably. "His clothes were all worn out," he said. "I couldn't help it, I notice these things. So…I offered to give him some of mine. In exchange for guitar lessons."

"Guitar lessons?" Lucy said. "You've always sworn you would never do anything that would give you calluses."

"He wouldn't take the clothes otherwise," Kurt said, surveying his reddened fingertips with a frown.

Lucy kissed his fingers. "Keep going," she said.

"So I brought over a bunch of my old things, and some of Finn's that weren't that bad," Kurt said. "He tried them on and I altered some of them that were close to fitting…or were, you know, not quite so…flamboyant. And then I went home." He raised and lowered one shoulder, staring down at his knees. "And then the next day when I was in glee club, all of a sudden everyone was accusing me of meeting Sam at a motel for…for _dirty _things, and they thought I was cheating on Blaine, and…and I couldn't tell them otherwise, because it wasn't fair to Sam, but I…I…"

He ducked his head and sniffled. "Oh, honey," Lucy said. She picked up the bowl of cookie dough and set it aside, then held out her arms. "Honey, it's okay. I know you're not cheating on Blaine."

He dropped his head against her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his waist. "I'm not the sort of person who cheats," he mumbled. "I just don't do that. I have very high moral standards."

"I know," she said. She kissed the top of his head. "I know, sweetheart. I believe you." She smoothed his hair back from his forehead. "And you're doing a good thing for Sam, both bringing him clothes and keeping his secret."

"That's what I keep telling myself," he sighed, shifting around to lean back against her. "It's my one consolation."

She hugged him. "How about we continue the consolation with cookie dough and a movie," she suggested.

He leaned over to pick up the bowl. "I understand you've recently picked up a copy of Easy A," he said. "You may put that one in."

Lucy gave him a playful push. "Get off my lap and ask nicely and I will," she said. Kurt grinned and flopped back against her, pinning the petite redhead against the couch. "No! Get off me! You're squishing me!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Ah, sweet Lurty goodness.

I have to say that Lucy is one of my favorite OCs, simply because she's always there for Kurt. They never fight, she never gets obsessed with tater tots or tries to steal his boyfriend, she's an excellent source of cuddles...they're just so fun.

They're self-described heterosexual life partners. That's pretty much how they roll.

And also, if anyone ever drops a prompt for Kurt and Lucy in my ask box, I shall never say no. Never. I love Lurty too much.


	18. Puck and Kurt

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Puck didn't even glance up when he heard the rapid footsteps towards the bleachers. "Puck," Kurt said, breathless, clutching his messenger bag. "Mind if I hide under here with you?"<p>

Puck gestured at the trash-filled expanse under the bleachers. "Be my guest," he said bitterly.

Kurt sat down beside him. "Thank you," he said. "I appreciate it."

Puck shrugged. Kurt huddled behind him, ducking his head as his breathing slowed down. "So," he said. "Any reason why you're hiding here?"

"Didn't feel like going to English class," Puck shrugged, toying with a stray straggling piece of brittle grass.

Kurt hugged his knees to his chest. "Just don't feel like reading Moby Dick?" he asked. "I figured you would want to be in the class, for anything but making fun of the title."

Puck threw the blade of grass down. "I just don't see the point anymore," he said.

"Point in what?" Kurt asked.

"This," he said. "School. Life. Everything."

Kurt rested his chin on his knees. "Is this…because of Beth?" he ventured.

Just the sound of her name brought it all back. He picked up a sun-faded soda can and threw it viciously into the bleachers, metal bouncing off metal in a sharp high clang. "It's not fucking _fair_," he choked. "It's not _fair. _She's…she's my daughter, and…and she's _gone_."

He covered his eyes with his hand, closing them tightly in an effort to cut off the hot burning sensation behind his eyelids. From beside him he heard the soft shushing sound of Kurt sliding across the dirt towards him, and felt the soft tentative warmth of Kurt's hand on his bicep.

"I'm so sorry," Kurt said quietly. "I know you're going to miss her. But…I think she'll know that you loved her, because you were willing to sacrifice what you wanted in order to do what was best for her."

Puck lost it. He buried his face in his hands, hunched over, bawling silently through his fingers. Kurt kept his hand on his arm, tight and firm and comforting, without any attempts to pat him in consolation or shush him or mumble that nonsense about "it's going to be okay."

Because it wasn't going to be okay. It wasn't ever going to stop hurting. Even when it wasn't going to be that sharp pain in his chest, every time he saw a little girl with big brown eyes or heard her name or even just remembered what it was like to hold that little pink bundle in his arms for that precious half hour, that dull pain in the pit of his stomach was going to rise up.

At last Puck sat up, swiping at his damp face and running nose with his dusty shirtsleeve. "Sorry," he mumbled thickly.

Kurt offered him a slight smile. "Don't mention it," he said.

Puck closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "So, uh…why're you under here?" he asked, trying to sound normal again.

"You know, the usual," Kurt said, darting a suspicious look through the cracks in the bleachers. "The football team. My daily appointment with a dumpster." He frowned. "I think they're doubling their efforts in an attempt to make up for all the time they'll miss me during the summer."

Puck glanced at the boy huddled next to him, thin and pale and wary-eyed. "That's not right," he said. He punched Kurt lightly on the upper arm. "Stick with me, okay? They won't mess with my badassness."

Kurt rubbed his shoulder. "Thank you, I think," he said. He smoothed his hair back. "Want to head to English? It'll be more fun getting in trouble for naughty jokes about Moby Dick than for skipping again."

Puck grinned. "I did come up with a pretty good one," he admitted. Kurt grinned back and punched him back on the shoulder. "Dude. I have to teach you how to punch."

"Don't worry about me. I wear Doc Martens and can kick above my head."

"Point taken."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I'm so tired of Glee pretending that Quinn and Puck didn't have a baby! I think it was mentioned maybe...twice in the second season? Maybe? But gah.

Personally, my theory is that Quinn has post-partum depression and that explains why she was so weird for season 2.

But anyways, this was prompted by someone asking for Puck and Kurt friendship. Couldn't pass that up! I never shipped Puckurt, but I'd be perfectly happy with them being friends. 


	19. Guys' Night and Sleepy Kisses

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Someone turn the DVD menu off," Sam whined, rubbing his eyes. "It's so annoying. I want to sleep."<p>

Puck fumbled in the dark for the remote. "No, dude, we have to watch the bonus features," he said. "The blooper reel is _hilarious._"

"Why are you so awake?" Sam whined.

"You've been to a New Directions sleepover before," Finn shrugged. He took a swig of his Mountain Dew and wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve. "There is no sleeping."

"But Mike's asleep," Sam whined, pointing lazily at Mike's sleeping bag.

Mike raised a hand, still facedown in his pillow. "'mwake!" he said.

"See?" Puck said, jabbing at the buttons. "Mike's awake. Finn and me are awake. Artie's awake-"

"Yo," Artie said, saluting from where he was sprawled out on the armchair.

"Blaine, what about you?" Puck asked.

"I'm awake," Blaine grinned. He shifted the heavy blanketed bundle cuddled over his knees. "The jury's still out on Kurt, though."

"…donmaefunnameimjustired…"

Finn snickered. "What was that, Kurt?" he asked.

Blaine smoothed Kurt's hair. "I believe he said 'don't make fun of me, I'm just tired'," he translated. Kurt held out a sleepy thumb's up.

"Well, wake him up," Puck said. "We haven't even gotten to the MarioKart tournament. Which I will win, by the way."

"…noyouwonimmagonnagetroalina."

"What?"

Finn glanced back at his brother and his boyfriend on the couch. "I think that was 'no, you won't, I'm going to get Rosalina'," he said. "He's right, you know. As long as he plays Rosalina, he usually wins."

Puck scowled. "That's a challenge," he said. "Blainers, wake up your boyf. I'm gonna kick his ass at MarioKart."

"I don't know, Kurt's pretty hard to wake up," Blaine warned.

"Wake him up, Anderson, by any means necessary," Puck ordered, chucking a stray cheese doodle at him.

"Except for sex," Finn chimed in. "Don't wake him up with sex."

Blaine grinned and pulled his mostly-asleep boyfriend closer to his chest. "Kurt," he whispered, dropping a light kiss on the top of his head. "Kurt, wake up."

Kurt scrunched up his nose. "…donwannatoosleepy," he mumbled.

Blaine kissed the tip of his nose. "Wake up, babe," he singsonged. "Good morning. Rise and shine."

Kurt frowned and turned his face away. Blaine nuzzled his cheek. "Come here. Let me kiss you," he said.

Kurt shook his head. "…naaahtoosleepyferkissies," he mumbled.

Blaine tugged him over easily and kissed his soft sleep-slack lips. "Come here and let me kiss you," he grinned. "I'm gonna kiss you."

Kurt sort of kissed him back, closed-mouth and drowsy. "…mmmthazznice…" he murmured.

Blaine kissed him gently. Kurt was warm and cuddly and pliable in his arms as he kissed him back softly, sometimes nearly missing his mouth. Blaine smiled. There was just something he liked about kissing Kurt when he was so sleepy, when he was vulnerable and fragile and needy like he never was when he was awake. Now he just seemed like something precious that needed to be handled carefully.

"Wake up, baby," Blaine whispered, kissing him soft and warm and slow. "Time to wake up."

Kurt snuggled closer, his tee shirt riding up as he slid his arms around Blaine's neck. "I like this," he murmured into Blaine's shoulder. "Kiss me more."

A pillow flew across the room and smacked them in the face. Blaine jumped back, startled. "What was-"

"I told you no sex," Finn accused.

"But we weren't, we were just-"

A white Wiimote soared across the living room and bounced off the wall onto Kurt's lap. "All right, Hummel, you're on," Puck said. "Pick your cart and let's do this thing."

"Offroader," Kurt mumbled, fumbling into a sitting position and plunking down on Blaine's knees. "I only play Rosalina in the offroader, and I'm going to kick your ass."

Blaine attempted to smooth down Kurt's hair; it was currently sticking straight up. "You do that, babe," he said. "Kick Puckerman's ass."

Sam picked up his controller and shook it sleepily. "You took baby Mario," he whined. "Gimme back baby Mario. I only play baby Mario."

"That is so lame," Mike said, shaking his head.

Sam stuck out his lower lip in a pout. "I'm gonna throw this at you," he threatened.

"Trouty Mouth. Pick your character. We're waiting on you."

Kurt sat up in Blaine's lap, already perking up. "It doesn't matter, I've got Rosalina," he boasted as Blaine slid his arms around his waist.

"Yeah, so?" Puck said.

"So I'm going to kick your ass! And I'm picking the track. Coconut Mall! We're doing Coconut Mall!"

"Oh, yeah, Hummel, you'd pick Coconut Mall."

"Shut up! It's the best track! I'm going to kick your ass!"

And he did. Soundly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Welp, no Extravaganza! update for today, but hopefully this will please you.

This makes me giggle a bit, because whenever I have Rosalina and the offroader, I usually smoke everyone.

I hope you liked this.


	20. Finn and Francey

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>They glared at each other across the coffee table, arms crossed. "I won Call of Duty," Francey said, scowling.<p>

"Yeah, but I won at Halo 3," Finn countered.

"I did better on Red Dead Redemption," she challenged.

"But you failed at Brawl," Finn said.

"That's because you took Pikachu!" Francey complained. "I can't win without Pikachu!"

They continued to glare at each other on opposite sides of the decimated living room, both of them barefoot and in ratty sweatpants, surrounded by empty soda cans and greasy pizza boxes and licked-clean ice cream cartons. Finally Finn sighed. "You know, we should really clean this place up before Blaine and Kurt get back from their honeymoon," he said.

"Eh, they should have expected this when they asked us to house-sit," Francey shrugged, stretched out from her curled-up spot on the armchair.

"Yeah, but it's kind of a wreck in here," Finn said, surveying the living room.

Francey chucked a pillow at him. "Yeah, well, they won't be back until the 23rd, so we'll be fine," she said.

"Oh god," Finn choked, sitting upright. "Oh god. _Today _is the 23rd."

Francey blinked. "Then we are dead, and we should get to work right away," she said.

A key turned in the lock. "Or we should hide," Finn suggested.

"We can tell them it was robbers. Teenage hoodlum robbers."

"I call under their bed!"

"Are you serious? You can't fit under that! I call it!"

"Not if I get to it first!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Just some short and sweet Finncey. Those two are diabolical.

(And apparently some people ship them! Makes me excited. :D)


	21. Little Blaine's Piano Lesson

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Blaine, sugar lamb, your piano teacher's here," Anna called.<p>

Blaine scowled. He hated playing the piano. He didn't mind the singing lessons, and he was super glad that his parents signed him up for soccer, but he despised the piano.

"Do I have to, Mama?" he groused, even though he already knew the answer.

"Come downstairs, doll baby, don't keep Miss Mollie waiting," Anna said.

He made his way slowly down the stairs, scooting down each step on his bottom. His mother stood at the foot of the polished staircase, smiling as she tapped her manicured fingernails on the banister. "Come on," she said, holding out her hand.

Blaine followed his mother reluctantly into the living room. He liked his piano teacher all right- Miss Mollie was sweet and pretty and always told funny stories- but he just hated the lessons. Especially since Francey was better and always teased him about it.

Miss Mollie stood by the piano, her sundress swishing around her legs as she pulled out her sheet music. "I hope you don't mind, Anna, but I had to bring Kurt with me today," she said. "Usually I let him stay at the garage with his daddy, but Burt had to make a run out to Columbus."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all," Anna said. She gave Blaine a little push towards the piano. "Go on, have your lesson. I'll bring in Francey when you're done."

Blaine surveyed the piano, rubbing the top of one foot against his ankle. Miss Mollie smiled at him. "Sit down, sweetheart," she said. "Blaine, this is my son, Kurt. Kurt, this is Blaine. He's one of my favorite students."

A little boy, his age or maybe a little younger, perched on the couch, his short legs swinging back and forth as he flipped through the pages of a coloring book. "Hello, Blaine," he said in a sweet little voice.

"Hi," Blaine said, suddenly shy.

Miss Mollie patted the piano bench. "Pop on up," she said.

Blaine obeyed, sitting down beside her and wiggling his short chubby fingers. Miss Mollie guided him patiently through his scales, keeping one hand on the small of his back to keep him sitting up straight. Miss Mollie's little boy sat by quietly, busily coloring.

It wasn't until she had him start practicing his new piece that things started to go a little awry. It was a two-hand piece, and so far he wasn't very good at it. Sometime he struck a particularly bad note, and Kurt would giggle until Miss Mollie sent him a chastising look.

He finished his piece again and sighed, his shoulders slumping. Miss Mollie ruffled his curls. "A little frustrated, are we, honey?" he said.

"Yeah," he sighed.

"Let's try this," Miss Mollie said. She crooked her finger at Kurt. "KK, honey, come here."

Kurt put his coloring book aside and slid off the couch. "What, Mommy?" he asked.

"You know the piece I taught you? The one you play with me?" she said.

He brightened. "Uh-huh!" he said, climbing onto his mother's lap.

"I want you to play it with Blaine," she said. "Now, Blaine, honey, you're going to be the heart. You're just going to play this same progression, over and over." She demonstrated the notes. "See? Just like that." She adjusted Kurt on her knees. "And Kurt's going to be the soul. Now, Blaine, you start."

He played the notes carefully, Miss Mollie occasionally placing her hand over his to guide him. Kurt played his part easily, his tiny slender fingers tripping over the keys. As he settled into the rhythm, it got easier. He looked up at Kurt and grinned; Kurt smiled shyly back.

"Very good!" Miss Mollie praised. "Very good, Blaine. What a good job." She squeezed his shoulder. "Go on and pick a treasure."

He scrambled off the piano bench and dug into the special treat bag that Miss Mollie always carried, finally settling on a bright orange superball as his reward. "Should I get Francey now?" he said.

"Go ahead," Miss Mollie said. "And maybe you could take Kurt to play with you?"

Kurt looked up, suddenly hopeful. Blaine scratched the back of his neck. "Do you like Power Rangers?" he asked.

Kurt's blue eyes brightened further. "I love Power Rangers!" he said.

Blaine held out his hand. "We can go play in my room!" he said. Kurt slid off his mother's lap and grabbed his hand, his fingers small and warm in his, and they ran up the stairs.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

PARDON ME, I JUST DON'T REMEMBER WRITING THIS AND I'M DYING A LITTLE FROM THE CUTE.

Ahem. Anyways.

Precious, precious little boys.

I'm so glad I've finally settled on how to write Blaine's parents. I love Anna. She's a sweet, itty-bitty blonde from Louisiana with a super thick accent, and she raised Blaine to be the perfect southern gentleman. Raising Francey to be another little southern belle did not go nearly so well...

Oh, and for polleygirl92: Lucy Trevelyan and Francey Anderson are two of my original characters. I wrote these drabbles for Tumblr prompts, so most of the people who read these originally were familiar with Lucy and Francey. If you want to get to know them, I guess you can read _Awesome and Delicious, This Time At Dalton _for Lucy and _Shorn _for Francey.

And if you have any prompts, leave them in my tumblr askbox! My name's redbullandcupcakebatter, and I don't bite. :)

I hope you liked this!


	22. Blaine is a Terrible Babysitter

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine took a deep breath. "Okay," he said. "Okay. You can do this. You can definitely do this."<p>

Gingerly he unfastened the snaps on his baby nephew's onesie. "Oh god. You're so little. Okay. Okay, little guy. Hold still for Uncle Blaine, okay? And don't…don't do anything else gross. Please."

He managed to wrestle the onesie into submission, but then he stared down at the diaper. "How do things come off?" he asked aloud.

The baby only responded by crying and squirming more. Blaine helplessly patted his tummy. "I'm trying, I'm trying," he said desperately. "It's okay, little guy, I'm just new at this."

He tugged helplessly at the tape keeping the diaper fastened. "How do these come off?" he said, frustrated. "Dammit. I mean…oh, crap, I probably shouldn't swear around a baby." He paused. "Wait, your mom is my sister. It's probably fine if I swear around you."

The baby continued to wail unhappily, his little face turning red with misery. "Please stop crying!" Blaine begged. "I'm trying, little guy!"

"Hey, Blaine, I….Blaine?"

He turned around to see his boyfriend standing in the doorway with a quizzical expression on his face. "The door was unlocked, so I let myself in," Kurt said. "Everything…all right?"

"Oh, thank God you're here," Blaine said. "Francey had to run out for a minute, so she left the baby with me, and…and he did…well, you know what, and then…I don't know how to change his diaper and he's crying and it's all my fault!"

"You can't change a diaper?" Kurt said, grinning as he dropped his bag by the door.

"Please fix it!" Blaine begged.

Kurt rolled up his sleeves and leaned over the sobbing baby on the changing table. "Why, hello, little man," he cooed. "Your Uncle Blaine is a little out of his element right now. Here, Uncle Kurt will make it better." He glanced over his shoulder. "Uncle Blaine. Come over here. You'd better learn how to do this."

In no time at all, Kurt had the baby changed, dressed, and happy again. Blaine heaved a sigh of relief as Kurt settled the baby on his hip. "Thank you so much," he said, leaning over to kiss Kurt on the cheek. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"Well, now you know how to properly change a diaper, so things should be a little easier next time you have to babysit," Kurt said, bouncing the happy baby on his hip. "And you should definitely do your best to become proficient, because I don't know about you, but I want babies. Several of them."

"Oh, really?" Blaine said, grinning at his boyfriend. "Perhaps with me?"

"Perhaps," Kurt said.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

FRANCEY HAS A BABY! In my headcanon, she marries a nice, affable, adorable guy that she met in med school. And their son is named Zachary, after her brother. YAY!

Also, this drabble is Very Relevant because right now I'm actually in the middle of writing a story about how Kurt and Blaine try to start a family. I hope people want to read about that...


	23. Finn Learns to Ride a Bicycle

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt dropped his fork. "You can't <em>what<em>?" he sputtered.

Finn's shoulders slumped and his head dropped. "I can't ride a bicycle," he mumbled.

"Finn, even I learned how to ride a bicycle, and you know how I feel about any kind of sports activity that involves headwear," Kurt said. "Why can't you ride?"

"Well, I had a tricycle, and I had a bike with training wheels," Finn defended. He slumped further, looking more and more like a kicked Great Dane puppy. "But then my mom didn't have time to teach me how to ride a two-wheeler, and by the time she did, I'd outgrown my bike and we…we didn't have the money for a new one."

Kurt sat back, slightly chastised. "Oh," he said. He cleared his throat. "Well, if you can't ride a bike, then why did you vote in favor of the bike-a-thon fundraiser for the new costumes?"

Finn sighed heavily. "Because everyone else was voting for it, and you know how I am with peer pressure," he said. "Besides, I told Puck when I was nine that I could ride a bike so he'd stop making fun of me." He frowned at his tray. "I figured I'd just fake the stomach flu or something on the day of."

Blaine twirled his spaghetti around his fork with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Well, what if we teach you how to a ride a bike?" he suggested. "Kurt and I both know how."

Finn perked up. "Could you?" he said. "Because that would be awesome. Could we start today?"

"But Blaine and I were going to-" Kurt suddenly doubled over in midsentence. "I suppose we could start today," he finished, glaring at his boyfriend.

"We can go to the park near your house after school," Blaine said. He took a bite of spaghetti and immediately spat it out into his napkin. "Oh, god, they even messed up spaghetti? The McKinley cafeteria is a new kind of suck."

"It's not too bad," Finn shrugged, shoveling food in his mouth now that his appetite had seemingly returned.

"I miss Dalton food," Blaine said mournfully.

Kurt patted him on the arm. "You and me both, babe," he said. "But we'd better eat. We'll need our strength if we're going to teach the Jolly Green Giant how to ride a bicycle."

He was right.

By four o'clock, the three of them wheeled their bicycles up to the start of the park bike path- Finn on Burt's decrepit mountain bike from his college days, Kurt on his glossy pink Schwinn cruiser, and Blaine on Kurt's old teal Schwinn.

"Why am I on your old bike?" Blaine complained.

"Because my legs are too long to fit comfortably on my old bicycle," Kurt said. "Your legs are short."

Blaine scowled at the flower-bedecked wicker basket, brightly colored handlebar streamers, and rainbow-flagged wheels. "No offense, babe, but this is the gayest bicycle I've ever seen," he said.

"That bike was a present for my eighth birthday!" Kurt said. "I thought it was awesome!"

"When you were _eight_," Blaine countered.

"Um, guys?" Finn ventured. "Can we stop arguing about the gayness of your bicycles and…you know, teach me how to ride this?"

"Okay, okay, fine," Kurt sighed. He looked his older brother up and down. "Have enough protective gear on? I think we could still strap a pillow on your ass."

Finn scowled from behind his football helmet. He had half of his football gear on, as well as a pair of gloves that Burt usually kept in the garage for electrical work. "Just shut up and teach me how to ride this thing without dying," he said.

Blaine reached over and switched the gear on Finn's bike to the lowest level. "Okay, now just remember that your brakes are on your handles," he said. "If you feel like you're going too fast, just squeeze lightly. Don't squeeze super hard all at once. You'll stop too fast and flip over your handlebars."

"Wait, you can do that?" Finn stammered.

Kurt slid on his Ray-Bans. "All right, for step one, lift up your kickstand," he said, demonstrating. Finn kicked awkwardly at his until it lifted. "Now, mount your bike." Blaine smirked. "Blaine! Act your age!"

"Well, I'm sorry, it's a little hard to be mature when I'm riding your first big-boy bike," Blaine said dryly. "I feel like an oversized six-year-old."

Kurt huffed. "Finn, just…just get on the bike," he said. He swung his leg over and perched on the pink and white banana seat. "See? Easy."

Finn half-hopped onto the seat. "Is this going to hurt my junk?" he asked warily.

"Probably," Blaine said, shifting on his seat.

"Boys, focus," Kurt said, snapping his fingers. "Now, Finn, just push down on the higher pedal and you'll start rolling forward. Just-"

Finn lifted his foot off the ground and immediately toppled over. Blaine sighed, leaning forward on his handlebars. "This is going to take forever, isn't it?" he said.

"Most likely," Kurt said, surveying his sprawled-out brother under the black and silver mountain bike. "Finn. You're fine. Get up."

"Oh, god, I think I broke something…"

"You weren't even moving yet!"

It took all afternoon, several water breaks, one snack break, more than a few pauses for bandaids and Neosporin, and so many falls that they all lost count, but by the time the setting sun was turning the sky pink, Finn was wobbling his way down the bike path, his tires looping crookedly. "Look! I'm doing it!" he exclaimed. "I can ride a bike!"

"You know how to ride, we just need to get you riding well before the bike-a-thon," Kurt said., one hand resting on his knee as he kept up with Finn's slow pace. "And we might have to have Dad take a look at that bike. It's older than us, and you've probably knocked everything loose with how many times you fell over."

"Falling didn't really hurt that bad, except for the one when I lost control and fell in the pricker bush!" Finn said happily. His face, arms, and legs were scratched up, but his smile was so wide it looked like his face was about to split in two. "Ooh, look, the path's really smooth up there. I'm gonna try to go faster."

"Go forth, my son," Kurt said, gesturing grandly. Finn pedaled a little faster, his tires squeaking as he picked up his pace.

Blaine rolled up beside Kurt, his legs bent a little too much on the small bike. "Next time we take Finn bike riding, I'm bringing my own bike from home," he announced.

"That bicycle is amazing," Kurt said. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I feel like a six-year-old girl," Blaine grinned. "Oh, look, it even has a bell on it!" He chimed it cheerfully. "How precious."

"All right, all right, it's a little childish," Kurt said. He smiled. "We did a pretty good thing today, didn't we?"

"We did," Blaine said. "You kept your temper in check admirably well, I might add."

"Well, thank you," Kurt smiled. Blaine stood up on the pedals and leaned close enough to Kurt to kiss him lightly, their tires wavering just a little as their lips touched.

A loud metal-tinged crash echoed up the path. Kurt cringed. "That was probably Finn," Blaine said ruefully.

Kurt sighed. "We should probably head home soon, before I have to explain to Carole why we have to take Finn to the emergency room," he said.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Not going to lie, this is one of my favorite drabbles.

FUN FACT: Kurt is riding my exact bicycle. And Blaine is riding the bicycle that we saw bb!Kurt riding during the flashback in Grilled Cheesus.

But yeah. I really love this drabble.


	24. Kurt On Laughing Gas

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"You know, I think this totally makes us even for the time you had to take me to the dentist for my root canal," Blaine grinned.<p>

Kurt grinned back at him, his blue-green eyes completely unfocused. "You, you, you…you look like a li'l black sheep," he said. He raised one limp hand and dropped it on Blaine's head, then started giggling. "Ha. Ha, ha. You feel like a li'l black sheep. Sheep…"

The dentist walked back in, absorbed in scanning Kurt's paperwork. "All right, it looks like he's good to go," he said. "We only had to pull two teeth, so he should recover fairly quickly." He glanced up to see Blaine bent awkwardly over Kurt, who was lying back on the examination chair with both hands tangled completely in Blaine's thick curls. "And don't worry, the laughing gas will wear off fairly soon."

"So I can take him home now?" Blaine asked as nonchalantly as he could manage while Kurt played with his hair and giggled off-key.

"Yes, you can," the dentist said.

Blaine reached up and untangled Kurt's limp fingers from his curls. "Did you hear the nice dentist, Kurt? We're going to go home now," he said.

Kurt stuck out his lower lip. "Sheep," he protested.

"I am not a sheep, Kurt," Blaine said patiently. He tugged on Kurt's knees until his legs hung off the side of the chair. "Can you get up for me, please?"

Kurt wobbled to his feet. "Hey, who…who…who made the floor bouncy?" he giggled, his knees shaking.

Blaine caught him under the arms before he faceplanted. "All right, someone's not walking, and that someone is you, Mr. Hummel," he said.

"But my dad is Mr. Hummel," Kurt said, dazed and perplexed as Blaine took his arms and wrapped them around his neck. "But…I guess…Imma Mr. Hummel too…unless…on the phone…they call me…ma'am…ooh, where did the bouncy ground go?"

Blaine slid his arm under Kurt's knees and picked him up. "The bouncy ground went away," he said. "Come on, let's get you out to the car. God, why are your legs so long?"

Kurt straightened one leg and studied his shoe. "I don't know," he said seriously.

Blaine huffed as he shifted his boyfriend in his arms. "Carrying you around right now is like carrying a very heavy jellyfish," he informed him.

Kurt nuzzled his neck. "Imma not jellyfish," he giggled. "Jellyfish. Jellofish. I want jello. Can I have jello? The green kind? The green kind looks like flubber. Ooh, can we watch Flubber? Can we?"

Blaine resisted the urge to laugh at his loopy boyfriend as he pushed the office door open with his back. "We can do whatever you want until this laughing gas wears off," he promised.

Kurt nibbled on Blaine's earlobe. "You're awesome," he sighed.

Blaine smiled. "So are you," he said. "Even when you're sort of high."

Kurt burst out laughing. "I got high once!" he giggled. "Puck…gave me…pot cupcakes. Potcakes. Cup-pot. No, potcakes. They were _awesome_."

"I don't know whether to be amused or terrified," Blaine said. "I'll have to ask Puck about that."

Kurt lolled his head against Blaine's shoulder. "You're ver' strong," he said in admiration. "You're like…a beast."

"Rawr," said Blaine, fumbling with the front passenger seat to his jeep. "Okay, get in the car. No, babe, wrong way. Just…just, no, just put your butt in the seat, and…Kurt, no, no, don't press that button, just put your ass down and let me buckle you in."

Kurt smiled sweetly at him. "This laughing gas makes my tummy hurt," he said.

"Don't barf in my-" Blaine sighed. "Oh, well. It's a good thing you're cute."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A KURT. KURT WAS ADORABLE. THE END.

I think this could sum up most of my drabbles.

And I have a running gag that Blaine looks like a sheep.

And I wonder what Kurt was like after eating Puck's potcakes.


	25. Kurt Gets Sunburned

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Blaine Warbler!"<p>

Blaine glanced at Mercedes sleepily over the rims of his sunglasses. "First of all, I was taking a nap, and second of all, my last name is Anderson," he said mildly. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is your boyfriend's stubborn little ass," Mercedes said. She held a sulky-looking Kurt by the hand, and she gave him just enough of a push that he plunked down on the end of Blaine's beachside lounge chair. "He won't listen to me."

"Because she's overreacting," Kurt interrupted. "Blaine doesn't think there's anything wrong with me. Don't you, Blaine?"

Blaine pushed his sunglasses back. "Oh my god, Kurt, why are you all red?" he said.

"Ha!" Mercedes said. "I told you so. You're sunburned."

"Am not!" Kurt protested.

Blaine stood up and took Kurt gingerly by the wrist. "Come on, we're going inside," he said.

"Blaine, stop it, I'm fine," Kurt argued, trying to fight back as Blaine led him to the house. The Andersons had given their permission for Blaine to take a few friends to the lake for the weekend, on the stipulation that Francey chaperoned and they all came back in one piece. Since Francey's idea of chaperoning was putting baby monitors in their rooms and leaving them to their own devices, they'd done pretty well for themselves, but this was definitely not a good development.

"You are not fine," Blaine insisted, dragging Kurt inside to the air conditioned kitchen, their bare feet making no noise on the hardwood floor, and closing the door behind them. "Come in and sit down."

"Blaine, really, you don't-"

Blaine slapped Kurt lightly on the back, the same way he'd affectionately pat a fellow Warbler after a good performance. Kurt yelped loudly. "Ha!" Blaine said. "I told you so."

"What did you do that for?" Kurt asked, screwing up his face.

"Go take a cool shower," Blaine said. "Get all that lakewater off you and cool off a little bit."

"Blaine, I'm fine," Kurt huffed.

Blaine propelled him carefully towards the bathroom. "Go," he said. Kurt rolled his eyes and slammed the door.

Blaine sighed and headed back towards the boys' room. The bedrooms in the rented lakehouse were fairly small; usually he and Francey shared one and his parents shared the other. But this year they had the three boys in one room and the three girls in the other, and things were just a wee bit crowded.

He waded through the combined mess of his and Finn's clothes strewn about the floor and sorted through the duffel bags. He had figured that Finn wouldn't pack any kind of aloe, but he was disappointed that he'd forgotten, and honestly rather shocked that Kurt didn't have any. Blaine tossed his bag back on his unmade bed and walked out onto the porch again.

He scanned the shoreline. Finn and Mercedes were having some sort of splash battle in the shallow part of the lake, but Lucy was lounging on a beach towel with a book. "Hey, Lu," he called, leaning over the railing.

She rolled onto her stomach and squinted up at him. "What's up?" she called back.

"Do you have any aloe?" he asked.

Lucy frowned and sat up, tugging on her navy and white polka dotted one-piece. "Yeah, in my kit," she said. "What's wrong? Are you sunburned?"

"I'm not, but my boyfriend has turned a fetching shade of lobster," Blaine said.

Lucy winced. "I told him his sunscreen was expired," she said. "Yeah, go ahead and get my aloe out of my bag. And come get me if you need me."

"Will do," he said, saluting. "Thanks."

He sauntered back into the house, whistling under his breath. The shower was still running; hopefully Kurt would be out soon. He slipped into the girls' room and dug the large green bottle out of Lucy's monogrammed bag.

"Blaine?" a plaintive voice called.

"In the girls' room," he called back.

Kurt shuffled into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist and his mouth pulled down in a pout. "Blaine, I think I'm sunburned," he said.

"Yeah, no kidding," Blaine said, scanning him up and down.

"The water felt like little needles," Kurt whined.

Blaine kissed him lightly on his pink forehead. "Go put on something comfy," he said. "Lucy has some aloe you can use."

Kurt shuffled back into the hall. "I look like a stop sign," he complained.

"I was thinking more like a lobster," Blaine suggested helpfully. He picked up the bottle of aloe and zipped Lucy's bag shut before heading out to the living room.

Kurt joined him a few minutes later, dressed in a pair of lightweight yoga pants. He sank down on the couch beside Blaine. "I never get sunburned," he said. "Not since I was a kid."

Blaine handed him the bottle of aloe. "There's a first time for everything," he said.

Kurt squirted some of the green gel into his hands. "I always use sunscreen!" he said. "Even on cloudy days! And this is the strongest SPF I own!"

"And when was the last time you used it?" Blaine asked.

Kurt sighed as he rubbed the aloe on his arms. "Like…2006," he admitted. "Lucy's right. It was expired."

Blaine watched him rub the aloe into his bare chest. "Uh-huh," he said.

Kurt didn't seem to notice his sudden distraction, too intent on rubbing the aloe across his reddened stomach. "Can you get my back?" he asked. "It hurts too much to reach."

"Uh-huh," Blaine said absently, barely noticing when Kurt pressed the bottle into his hands and turned around. "What…oh. Okay."

He squeezed the bottle, globbing a little too much green gel into his palms. Tentatively he massaged into the hot skin on Kurt's shoulders, trying not to press too hard. Kurt's skin was sensitive on a good day; this had to be painful.

"Mm, this feels nice," Kurt murmured.

Oh. Perhaps not so painful.

Blaine moved his hands down to Kurt's spine, rubbing the aloe into his smooth bare back. Kurt sighed heavily, the sound trailing off. Blaine squirmed a little.

He leaned forward, his lips nearly at Kurt's ear. "Is it better, babe?" he whispered. Kurt nodded, leaning forward to fold his arms on the armrest of the couch and rest his chin on his wrists.

Blaine squirted a little more gel into his hands and smoothed it over Kurt's shoulderblades, rubbing in slow gentle circles until it melted into his skin. Kurt shivered just a little bit, and Blaine bit his lip. He slid his hands a little lower, until his fingertips were brushing against the waistband of Kurt's pants.

"Someone's not wearing underwear, is he?" he teased, his voice soft and low. He rubbed his thumbs at the base of Kurt's spine. "You know, everyone's outside right now…"

The screen door slid open and Blaine leaned back quickly. "Hi," Lucy said. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Yes, Lucy, you are," Blaine said. "God, what is it with people cockblocking us all the time?"

"I think Kurt did the cockblocking before I got here," Lucy said, drawing her damp hair back in a ponytail and snapping an elastic over it. "Someone's asleep."

Blaine looked down at his boyfriend. Sure enough, Kurt was fast asleep, his reddened cheek resting on his arms. Blaine sighed. "Yeah, he's asleep," he said.

Lucy patted the top of Kurt's head. "I'll put him to bed," she said. "And you can lie here and think about how Kurt's not wearing any underwear."

"You people are so mean to me," Blaine muttered.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Okay, so this one might be my favorite. Or at least one of my favorites. SLDKFJDSKLJflkj Kurt is adorable. And Blaine is even more adorable.

And also I adore Lucy.

And there was cockblocking! Again!

I think this why I never write smut. I have too much fun writing cockblocking scenes.

Also, I actually wrote a drabble based on Kurt's line about how the last time he got sunburned when he was little, and trust me, that one is _adorable_. It'll be up here at some point...


	26. Perpetually Cockblocked

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Blaine, we're going to get in so much trouble," Kurt whispered, happily scandalized.<p>

"Don't care," Blaine mumbled into Kurt's neck in between kisses, his breath hot against his skin. "Mm, god, you smell good."

Kurt let out a little shriek as the tip of Blaine's tongue worked a tiny circle on his neck. "We're going to get in trouble," he said again, grabbing at Blaine's shoulders to keep his balance as Blaine leaned him back against the risers. "We're gonna be…in so much…ooh, do that again…"

Blaine knelt between Kurt's legs, easing him back, one hand cupped carefully under Kurt's slender neck. "But we're going to get caught," he teased, low and throaty. "If you're worried about getting caught…"

He nuzzled the crook of Kurt's neck. "…then maybe we…"

He pressed a soft, warm kiss to his soft skin. "…should stop."

Blaine latched his mouth against Kurt's shoulder and sucked hard. Kurt let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes. "No, no, don't stop," he whimpered. "I can…I can break rules…"

Blaine smiled into Kurt's shoulder, kissing down to his collarbone, and tangled his fingers in Kurt's soft silky hair. "Good," he said hoarsely, rocking forward. Kurt moaned, leaning back with his arms above his head.

Blaine dragged his hands down Kurt's slender muscled sides until he reached the hem of his shirt. He slid his hands under the fabric, running his fingers along the lines of Kurt's abs and ribs, grinning to himself as Kurt whined under him and his hands traveled further up until-

Blaine suddenly got the creepy vibe that someone was staring at him. He glanced over and immediately scrambled back. "Oh, um, hi, Brad," he stammered.

Kurt bolted upright, trying to smooth his rumpled clothes and mussed hair. Brad glared at them over the rims of his glasses. Blaine shifted awkwardly under his angry gaze. "At least it wasn't on your piano?" Kurt offered meekly.

Brad sighed, then fixed them with another long glare (under which Kurt turned beet red and Blaine merely smiled guiltily) before turning around and stalking out. Blaine sagged, sighing in relief. "God, why does everyone cockblock us?" he said.

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure that someday he's just going to snap and kill us all," Kurt said. Blaine nodded.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

And here, ladies and gentlemen, is the smuttiest thing I've ever written.

And yet it still ends in cockblocking.

And also Brad.


	27. Little Furt

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Finn, stay on your side of the backseat!'<p>

"I'm not anywhere close, princess!"

"You were _poking _me!"

"You're stupid."

"Shut up, you overgrown puppy!"

"Mom, Kurt's being mean again!"

"You started it! Carole, he called me a princess!'

"Ow! Mom! Kurt kicked me!"

Carole glanced in the rearview mirror at her two sons. Both of the ten-year-olds were pressed up against their respective windows, arms crossed across their chests, mouths pulled down in identical pouts. She resisted the urge to sigh. "Finn, don't poke Kurt," she said. "Kurt, don't kick Finn. And both of you, enough with the name-calling."

The two boys scowled, continuing to sulk unhappily. Carole did sigh then, just a little bit.

She knew when she married Burt that they were going to have a rough time blending together as a family. Sure, she and Burt were doing just fine, and moving from two separate houses to one big one went off without a hitch. And Finn was thrilled to finally have a daddy. He had someone to take him fishing and practice with for peewee football tryouts and play-wrestle with on the living room floor. Yes, Finn was delighted.

The problem was Kurt.

Immediately Carole mentally scolded herself over that one. Kurt wasn't a problem. He was a dear, sweet, sensitive boy who kept his room tidy and set the table without asking and had the brightest, sunniest smile she had ever seen. She really did love that child.

Kurt just didn't quite love her back yet.

She didn't blame him for it. After all, he had been so close to his beloved mother, and after watching her slowly fade and pass away two years ago, now he had a new mother that he clearly wasn't ready for, along with a new brother that he clearly distrusted.

She glanced back at the boys again. Finn would have been happy to have a brother if it had been a boy like Noah Puckerman- noisy, rough and tumble, playful. Not a boy who liked things neat and quiet and danced to music alone in his room and played by himself with a collection of action figures that had amassed a particularly impressive couture wardrobe.

Sometimes she wondered if everything would work out. She certainly hoped it would.

She pulled into a parking space. "All right, boys, we're here," she said. "I'll be at the picnic tables over there if you need me. Play nice, okay? And if there's any fighting, we're going straight home and there won't be any dessert after dinner."

"Okay!" Finn said, bolting out of the car and making a mad dash for the playground, all arms and legs in cargo shorts that already seemed partially outgrown. He looked older than ten, long and lanky, even though he was only a few months older than his new brother.

Kurt stepped out of the car and closed the door. "Thank you for taking us to the park, Carole," he said politely. He was dressed in shorts and a short-sleeved button up shirt with sandals buckled on his small feet; the jewels on the straps made her wonder if Burt had purchased them from the girls' department, but she knew better than to ask. "I'll be on the swings."

"All right, sweetheart," she said. He smiled, sweet and bright but still slightly guarded, and skipped off.

She picked up her tote bag and headed over to the shaded picnic tables. Finn was already zipping around the play equipment, running up the slides and leaping onto the monkey bars. Kurt played on the opposite side, pumping his short legs back and forth on the swings. Finn ran around towards Kurt, giving him a push and nearly knocking him off. Kurt glared, swinging his legs in his direction.

"Boys, no fighting or we'll go back home," she called.

She sighed and picked up her book, but she didn't really open it. She kept watching the two boys play- Finn clambering over the playscape and shrieking, Kurt swinging back and forth. It looked like he was singing to himself. Finn ran up to him again and leaped onto a swing, tummy down, before spinning around in circles. Kurt laughed at him; Finn was too distracted to pay any attention.

"Are those your boys?"

Carole glanced at another mom at the picnic table across from her. The young woman smiled as she rummaged in the diaper bag hanging off the stroller. "Oh," Carole said. "Yes, those are mine."

"They look like brothers," the other mom said, fishing out a sippy cup of apple juice and handing it to her toddler. "And the younger one has your smile."

Carole paused. "Oh," she stuttered. "Thank you."

The mom flashed her one last smile before steering the stroller back towards the walking path. Carole stared down at her still-closed book. She had never thought that anyone would ever mistake her son and Burt's son as brothers, actual brothers. Or that she would ever be mistaken for Kurt's mother.

Maybe they had a chance to be a real family. Maybe.

"Mom! Mom!"

She looked up to see Finn running towards her, dragging Kurt behind him. "Finn, what's wrong?' she asked.

"Mom, Kurt fell off the swing and scraped his hand," Finn said. "He's got a really big splinter. It's huge."

Finn was wild-eyed and Kurt was pale. "It's okay," Carole said quickly, guiding Kurt over to the bench of the picnic table so he could sit down. "Let me take a look."

"It hurts," Kurt said in a small voice.

Finn sat down beside Kurt and patted his back. "It's okay, Mom's really good with splinters," he reassured him.

Carole took Kurt's small soft hand in hers. The splinter stuck out of his palm, rough and dark, and Kurt bit down hard on his lip as Carole plucked at it. "I'll be okay," he said, trying to pull away.

"Honey, I need to get it out of your hand," she said softly, smoothing his hair away from his forehead. "Just trust me."

Kurt bit harder at his lip as Carole worried at the splinter, trying to take it out while inflicting as little pain as possible on the child. Finn scooted a little closer and patted Kurt's other hand. Kurt hooked his slender fingers around Finn's until he squeezed back.

Carole worked enough of the splinter out to grip it and yank it out. Kurt cried out in a tiny painful yelp. "There, it's gone," she said, cupping his hand in hers. "It's gone. You're okay, sweetheart."

He slumped beside her, his head down and his eyes closed. Finn squirmed his hand out of Kurt's grip and patted his back. "See? I told you Mom was good with splinters and stuff," he said.

Kurt nodded a little, his head still down. Without thinking, Carole reached over and picked him up, settling him on her lap. Kurt stiffened, then sagged against her, his head falling to her shoulder. Carole kissed the top of his head as Finn snuggled into her side, and she smiled as she surveyed her two sons.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

All right, bear with me a wee bit on this one.

For some reason I got this plot bunny for an AU where Burt and Carole got married not in season 2, but when Kurt and Finn were about ten years old. I don't even know why. I just find it fascinating to play around with.

And besides, there's never not a good time for wee!Finn and wee!Kurt. THEY'RE JUST TOO PRECIOUS FOR THEIR OWN GOOD. THEY'RE LIKE VERY SMALL EMOTIONAL KRYPTONITE.


	28. Samcedes

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Sam squeezed Mercedes' hand as they stepped up to the counter. Her heart flipflopped happily. "Hi there, what'll you have?" the barista asked.<p>

"Uh, yeah, I'll have a tall shaken lemonade iced tea, and she'll have a grande caramel frappacino, extra whip," Sam said.

"You know my coffee order!" Mercedes said. She grinned. "Ooh, Kurt said that's a sign…"

"Sign of what?" Sam asked, fumbling in his back pocket for his wallet.

"Oh, nothing," she smiled. "Wait, what are you doing?"

"I'm paying," he said, pulling a couple of worn-out bills out of his wallet.

"Oh, nah-uh, no way," she said. She shook her head and tugged her own wallet out. "I don't think so, baby."

"But…but a gentleman has to pay on the first date," he said, perplexed.

She shook him a patented skeptical look. "Sam, this is like our fourth date," she said.

"Yeah, but this is the first date at a coffee shop," he said.

She closed his wallet and handed her debit card to the barista. "Make the lemonade ice tea a venti, please, and could we get one of those lemon scones to split?" she told the barista. She turned back to Sam. "Sweet thing, I am perfectly capable of paying for myself. And for you. I mean, I like chivalry as much as the next girl, but I've got to feel independent sometimes."

He grinned down at her, almost dopey in his happiness, and offered her his arm. "You are the best thing to happen to me since they put the Back to the Future trilogy on Blu-ray," he said.

"I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I'm gonna take that as a compliment," she teased. He squeezed her arm playfully as they crossed to the counter to wait for their drinks.

She glanced over her shoulder at Kurt and Blaine, deep in conversation. They held hands across the table, their fingers linked together. Kurt was talking animatedly, waving his free hand wildly as he told Blaine some sort of story. Blaine was looking at Kurt with a soft smile, his eyes warm and bright as he gazed at his boyfriend with a look that could only be described as pure adoration.

The butterflies in her stomach fluttered again. _I would give anything to have someone look at me like that_, she thought.

She looked up at Sam. He was smiling in thanks at the barista as she handed them their cups, and the happy butterflies swarmed tenfold.

_Maybe I will_, she thought.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Um...have some Samcedes!

This is the first time I've written them, but I think they're totally adorbs.

Honestly, though, I don't care about pairings. I've been in a bunch of different fandoms, as you can see from my list of stories, and I've written everybody. Sam/Mercedes, Sam/Quinn, Finn/Quinn, Finn/Rachel, Puck/Rachel, Puck/Lauren, Artie/Tina, Mike/Tina, Aang/Katara, Zuko/Katara, Sokka/Toph, Sokka/Yue, Sokka/Suki, Zuko/Toph, Cyborg/Raven, Robin/Raven, Robin/Starfire, Yuki/Tohru, Kyo/Tohru, Harry/Ginny, Harry/Luna...I just really don't care. I'll write anybody.

My only OTPs? Kurt and Blaine in Glee, and Yoh and Anna in Shaman King.

Nobody messes with my OTPs.

Other than that, though, I'll write anybody. Yippee!

(Oh, and I kind of consider Burt/Mollie to be an OTP. But I also ship Burt/Carole. So...yeah.)


	29. I Love You

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>For the first time in his life, Blaine Anderson did not plan.<p>

He didn't choreograph, rehearse, and stage an elaborate musical number.

He didn't pull strings in order to arrange for a duet together.

He didn't mentally plan a speech, filled with pretty phrases and carefully constructed sentences.

He just sat across the little table in the coffee shop, his chin in his hand as he gazed at his boyfriend, and it just…slipped out.

"I love you."

Kurt paused, choking a little on his coffee in surprise, and sat up, his eyes brightening. "I love you too," he said, slightly breathless.

Sometimes it was nice to not have a plan.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Mm...short and sweet. :)


	30. For Good

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>He knew that standing on the stage of the George Gershwin meant he should be thinking of his own future, standing on this stage himself, pouring his heart into his nightly performances and relishing the adoration of the audience.<p>

But for some reason, on this beautiful stage, surrounded by the set of a musical he'd adored and admired for years, all he could think of was a tiny joke of a stage, the floor scuffed and scraped, the set handmade and laughable. The first stage he'd ever sung on, nearly nine years ago.

* * *

><p>Kurt stood at center stage, staring wide-eyed at the small sea of folding chairs. "I can't do it," he said, shaking his head wildly. "Mom, I can't do it."<p>

"Of course you can," Mollie said from the wings, busily organizing the props. "You're perfect for the part, and you sing like an angel."

Kurt tried to answer, but his eyes were glued on the empty seats where the audience would be in just a few short hours, and his answer came out as a choked little whimper. Mollie glanced up and crossed the stage towards him. "Oh, honey," she said. She knelt down beside him and tugged him into her lap. "Baby, it's okay. It's just a little bit of stage fright. You're going to be fine."

"What if I'm not?" he whispered into her shoulder. "What if I forget everything, or mess up, or-"

She rubbed his back firmly. "You will still be perfect," she said. "No matter what you do, you will be perfect. You were born to be on that stage, Kurt. Bigger stages, even." She kissed him on the cheek. "You light up when you sing. I love it." She kissed him again. "Promise me you'll never stop singing, no matter what?"

Kurt nodded, the angry nervous butterflies in his stomach calming as his mother stroked his hair. He cuddled against her and surveyed the empty seats again, this time with a critical eye. Maybe it was just the fact that his mother was holding him, but he was starting to think he could actually do this.

* * *

><p>Kurt stared across the vast sea of the theater's empty seats, scanning the balconies through the haze of lights. "I've heard it said," he sang softly, "that people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn."<p>

He imagined the seats filled, an entire audience waiting on his every word. His father would be there, out of his element but bursting in pride, with Carole beside him, as pleased and thrilled as if he was her own flesh and blood. Finn would be there too, smiling that half-grin that he usually saved for those moments when he wanted to say _I'm proud of you _or _I'm glad you're my brother _or _dude, you're pretty awesome. _And Blaine would be there, of course, so handsome it nearly hurt and smiling just for him and waiting by his dressing room door after the show with flowers and a kiss.

And one seat would still be empty.

"But we are led to those who help us most to grow, if we let them and we help them in return…well, I don't know if I believe that's true, but I know I'm who I am today because I knew you."

His heart ached at the thought that his mother would never be here to see him like this. But maybe she would just know anyways.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

So...yeah. I must face the fact that I tie everything back to Mollie.

When "New York" aired, a lot of people gushed over this scene and the Hummelberry relationship. And while I do appreciate a good Hummelberry friendship (Blame It On the Alcohol not included), I couldn't help but feel that Kurt was looking at a bigger scope.

Plus, it's part of my personal headcanon that when Kurt was very small, his first show was Honk! Jr, and he played the role of the Ugly Duckling. And it was the only performance of his that Mollie got to see before she passed away.

Pardon me, I'm going to go listen to "Different" from the Honk! original cast recording and weep softly into my pillow...


	31. Lurty Shopping Bonanza!

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Your boyfriend is a bad influence on my girlfriend," David complained.<p>

Blaine glanced up from his iPhone. "What?"

"Lucy was perfectly fine to keep her mall trips to like three times a year, with Jo," David said, crossing his arms. "The rest of the time she would just show me stuff on that Madcloth-"

"Modcloth."

"Whatever. That website. And I would tell her if I liked it or not. Now we're here," David said, gesturing broadly at the rows of dressing room doors. "We're here like…_once a month_. And they buy out like every store!"

A dressing room door swung open and Lucy and Kurt stuck their heads out, both of them half-dressed. "All right, first of all, David Roy Barnes III, we can totally hear you," Lucy said.

"And second of all, we do not 'buy out like every store'," Kurt said. "I didn't amass my impressive wardrobe without being a bargain hunter."

"_I _know that," Blaine said. "And you two should finish getting dressed before an employee comes back here and thinks you two are getting it on in a dressing room."

Lucy giggled. "This coming from someone with experience in that field," she said before disappearing into the tiny dressing room.

Kurt blushed. "We weren't going to talk about that!" he said, shutting the door.

David whirled around to stare at Blaine. "Seriously?" he said.

Blaine shrugged. "We might have second-based it in a dressing room at a Goodwill," he said. "It's a long story."

"Congratulations," David said in admiration. "Have I ever told you about the time that Lucy and I-"

"I CAN HEAR YOU, DAVID."

David shrank back. "Please let this shopping trip end soon," he mumbled.

Kurt stuck his head out. "Are you ready, gentlemen?" he asked.

Blaine slid his phone in his pocket. "More than ready," he said.

Kurt strutted out of the dressing room in tight neon-blue pants and a v-neck top. "What do you think?" he asked, spinning on his socked toes and posing in front of them. "I'm not sure about the shirt, but I think I might get the pants."

"The pants are fantastic," Blaine agreed.

David elbowed him. "Blaine, stop staring at his ass," he snickered.

Lucy sashayed out of the dressing room in a printed sundress with a deep halter and a draped circle skirt. "I'm totally getting this," she declared.

Blaine elbowed David back. "David, stop staring at her boobs," he said.

"Shut up," David mumbled.

Lucy and Kurt squeezed in together in front of the three-paneled mirror, admiring themselves. "This is perfect," Kurt said, clasping his hands. "Look at us. We complement each other perfectly."

"Um, hello?" Blaine said. "Boyfriend. Right here. Shouldn't I be complementing you?"

"Yes, but Kurt and I are heterosexual life partners," Lucy said.

"Well, then can you go shopping with just him and let us stay home?" David asked, exasperated.

"Then who will carry our bags?" Lucy said. Blaine pouted.

Kurt laughed and bounced over to Blaine, plunking down on his lap and sliding his arms around his neck. "I keep you around for more than bag-carrying," he said, nuzzling his nose against Blaine's. "Want to go get a pretzel?"

"Totally," Blaine grinned.

David frowned at Lucy. "Can I get a pretzel too?" he grumbled. "And a kiss? They're making us look bad."

Lucy sat down on David's lap and kissed him thoroughly. "We can get a pretzel, and frozen yogurt," she promised. "You've been very good today."

"Ha!" David said, hugging Lucy tightly. "Take that, Klaine! Lavid is still going strong!"

"Oh, it's on, Barnes," Blaine grinned.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I just realized that was probably a terribly inopportune time to post this.

*hides "Hard to Come By" far, far away*

I love David and Lucy. And I love that somehow, as I have continued to write her, Lucy has ended up as Kurt's heterosexual life partner. At times I worry that she's devolving into Mary Sue territory, but for me, she fulfills a need that the show keeps trying to fill, and then destroying it. Because season one Mercedes was AWESOME and I adored her, and then season 2 Mercedes is just whiny and hungry and "ooh, poor me" and I'm like "MERCEDES. LOOK AT YOUR LIFE. LOOK AT YOUR CHOICES. PUT THE TOTS DOWN AND GO DO SOMETHING AWESOME."

And then Rachel started getting awesome, and then her brain was apparently temporarily taken by aliens for the entirety of "Blame It On the Alcohol" and part of "Rumours," and I'm sorry, but sneaking into the George Gershwin and singing a teary and beautiful rendition of "For Good" does not necessarily a best friend make.

So Lucy is there to love on Kurt and be his sensible sounding board and cuddle him when he's upset and go shopping and not be a total drag during his date with Blaine or try to make out with Blaine at a party.

And I adore Lucy. So...yeah.


	32. Father's Day

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt Hummel woke up on Father's Day feeling bummed.<p>

He would never admit it, but he was sort of sulking. For the past nineteen years, he had spent Father's Day in a delirium of activity. Father's Day was a big deal for Kurt, and he went all out-fancy meals, thoughtful gifts, fun outings to baseball games or car shows without the slightest hint of a fuss. But it was more than just the stuff. He always knew that Kurt loved him, but Father's Day always reminded him of how close they were, and how much he adored that kid of his.

The past few years had been even better, with Finn joining in on Kurt's plans and the two of them teaming up. Burt had always wanted a lot of kids, and getting another son had been one of the best things to happen to him.

But now those sons were out of the house. Kurt was a junior counselor at that performing arts camp he'd gone to in high school, and Finn was gone all the time coaching a summer peewee football league. Plus, Carole had had to go out of town to visit a sick aunt the day before, so it was just going to be him and little Emily for the day.

Granted, he adored his baby daughter, and he couldn't imagine life without her, but it was going to be an awfully boring day with just him and a toddler, and probably too many episodes of Ni-Hao, Kai-lan.

He heard Emily chirping from down the hall and sighed. Kurt used to wake up singing, now Emily woke up chattering. He sighed and got out of bed. "Morning, Emmy," he said, walking over to the crib that Kurt had picked out. "You have a good sleep, baby girl?"

The nearly two-year-old little girl broke into a wide smile at the sight of her father. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" she chirped, stretching out a small hand. "Morning, Daddy, morning!"

"Yeah, good morning, kiddo," Burt grinned, ruffling her sleep-mussed brunette curls. He paused. Emily clutched a baseball cap in one chubby little hand. "Where'd you get that, Emily?"

"Kurty!" she exclaimed. "Finny!"

"No, little girl, your big brothers aren't here," Burt said, prying the baseball cap out of her hand.

"Yes, we are!"

The door to Emily's closet swung open and two nearly-grown men tumbled out. "Oh my god, I thought we were going to die in there!" Kurt gasped.

"Oh, come on, it was awesome!" Finn said. "Look how surprised Dad is!"

"Geez, are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Burt sputtered. "What the hell are you two doing in Emily's closet?"

"What the hell!" Emily repeated cheerfully.

"Crap," Burt muttered.

Kurt straightened his shirt, beaming proudly. "Finn and I planned it," he said. "You've got us all day, all for yourself."

"We just wanted to surprise you," Finn said.

"Emily helped," Kurt added.

Burt glanced down at the baseball cap in hands. NUMBER ONE DAD it proclaimed in bright red letters.

"Happy Father's Day, Dad," Finn said.

Burt surveyed his two sons, still boyish in their excitement, and his little daughter, bouncing up and down in her crib with delight, and grinned as he put on the hat.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

EVERYTHING IS CUTER WITH THE HUDMEL FAMILY.

And for those who are confused, Emily is Finn and Kurt's baby half-sister. Burt and Carole were all like "we're too old to have a baby!" when they got married, so they didn't take precautions, and then...bam! Baby Emily. She made her first appearance in "Family Ties," and pops up randomly in other stories in the You and I 'verse.


	33. Little Hudmel Brothers

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt bent to kiss Carole's cheek. "Dinner smells good," he said, dropping his wallet and keys on the kitchen counter. "Where are the boys?"<p>

"In their room," Carole sighed, hanging Burt's keys on the hook where they belonged. "They got into trouble at school today."

"What kind of trouble?" Burt asked warily.

"One of them tripped the little Lopez girl on the playground, on purpose," Carole said. "No one saw which boy it was and neither one would confess, so they both got sent to the principal's office."

"Want me to talk to them?" Burt offered.

"You can try," Carole said. "They won't speak to anyone but each other."

Burt squeezed Carole's shoulders. "I'll figure out what's up," he said, kissing the top of her head.

He headed for the basement stairs, trying to think of what could have gone down. Funny thing was, it didn't seem like either boy to fight with a girl. Kurt disdained any sort of fighting, and Finn was too much of a pushover, unless he was really riled up. The whole situation was just strange.

He paused on the landing and frowned. The two boys were sitting on the floor in front of the silent TV, Kurt with a book and Finn with a couple of his action figures. "Hi, boys," he said, sliding his hands in his back pockets and putting on his "stern dad" voice. "Mom says you two got in trouble at school today."

Both brunet heads dropped down. "Well?" Burt pressed.

"Uh-huh," Finn said. Kurt sniffled audibly.

Burt sat down on bottom step. "You two wanna tell me what happened?" he asked, softening his tone.

"Nah-uh," Finn said softly. Kurt shook his head.

"I know one of you did it," Burt said. "There's no reason for you both to get punished."

Kurt turned a page. Finn aimlessly made one Power Ranger punch the other.

"So Mom took away TV privileges, huh?" Burt said.

"And our gameboys," Finn added. "And our stereo. And no dessert."

Kurt sniffled again. Burt knew that the kid had to be pretty miserable. Kurt never got in trouble. You look up "good kid" in the dictionary, there was Kurt's picture. Something had to be up.

"So you two are getting punished pretty hard for this," Burt said. "But you know only one of you has to be in trouble." Kurt still stared at his book; Burt reached over and closed it. "You could just tell me what's going on."

Neither boy answered. The Power Rangers drooped in Finn's grip. "I'm real disappointed in you two," Burt said. "You both know better than to hurt somebody else, much less a girl."

Kurt's chin wobbled and his eyes squinched up as they welled up with tears. Finn glanced away, biting his lip.

Burt suppressed a sigh. If the kids weren't going to say anything, he might have to force their little hands. He hated doing it, especially to his own kid, but he didn't know how else to get their attention.

"Well, since you're not going to tell me, I'll just have to pick one of you to be in trouble," Burt said. He beckoned to Kurt. "Kurt, I'm real sorry, kiddo, but-"

Kurt's entire face crumpled and his shoulders sagged as he burst into tears. "No, it wasn't him!" Finn burst out, jumping to his feet. "I mean, it was sort of him, but…I did it, Dad, don't be mad at Kurt!"

Kurt buried his face in his hands and sobbed. Burt squeezed his shoulder. "Then just tell me what happened," he said gently.

Finn took a deep breath. "Santana was teasing Kurt, and calling him names, really mean names, and he wasn't doing anything, he didn't, and then she started pulling his hair, and he pushed her to get her off him, and, and….Dad, I got so mad, and I just…I stuck my foot out, and she tripped, and she started yelling, and Kurt and I had to go to the principal's office, and it was scary, and…Dad, please don't be mad."

Burt gathered his sobbing son onto his lap and held out his other arm to Finn. "It's okay, I'm not mad," he said. He kissed the top of Kurt's head as Finn curled up against his side. "It's okay. Kurt, you can stop crying."

"You're m-mad at m-me," Kurt wailed.

"No, I'm not, I'm not," Burt reassured him. "The little brat deserved it. Didn't you get a chance to tell your side of the story?"

Finn shook his head. "They just got mad 'cause Santana was a girl and we knocked her over," he said.

"Well, sometimes little girls can be just as mean as little boys," Burt said, hugging Finn to his side. He rested his chin on the top of Kurt's head as his sobs died down to shuddering little whimpers. "Finn, kiddo, why don't you run up and tell Mom that we're going to eat dinner in the living room tonight. I think it's a good time for a family movie night."

"Really?" Finn said, brightening. "We're not punished anymore?"

"Nope," Burt said. "Go on, kiddo."

Finn ran up the stairs two at a time. Burt turned his attention to Kurt, cradling him in his arms. "I'm not mad, scooter," he soothed. "Not at all. You were just defending yourself. You did just fine." He patted Kurt's narrow back as his sobs quieted. "I'm real glad your brother was there with you, though."

Kurt nodded against his neck, rubbing at his wet cheeks. Burt closed his eyes and hugged him tightly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Look! More little Hudmels!

I really am thinking about writing a multichapter fic about this, from Carole's point of view. I think it could be fascinating! Plus, I love writing little Kurt and little Finn as little brother buddies.

And man, they would both grow up so, _so _different. I doubt Kurt would have a crush on Finn, but things would probably be a lot safer for him, since his brother is the star quarterback. And Finn would be a lot more sensitive about things- I seriously doubt the "faggy" incident would have ever happened.

And in Grilled Cheesus, Kurt wouldn't have to go home to an empty house to ponder life as an orphan. And I wonder how Quinn's pregnancy would have gone, or if it would have happened at all.

It's just fascinating to think about.


	34. Little Klaine Halloween

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Trick or treat! Trick or treat!" Blaine shrieked, running down the sidewalk.<p>

"Wait for me, wait for me!" Kurt called. His little legs were too short to keep up comfortably, and his candy bucket bopped into his knees as he tried to run.

Francey shook her head. "What babies," she sighed.

Blaine jumped up and down, waving his bright blue lightsaber back and forth. "Francey, they've got whole candy bars at this house!" he shouted.

Francey perked up and grabbed the skirt of her long white dress. "Hold up, don't go without me!" she hollered running down the sidewalk after the two little boys.

Burt shook his head. "Kids always go crazy on Halloween," he said, following at a more sedate pace.

Anna laughed. "It's an awful lot of fun, though," she said. "Sure, they always get those bad tummy aches the next day, but it's worth it to see how happy they are."

"Don't remind me about the aftermath," Burt said. "The year Kurt was four, he snuck out of bed in the middle of the night to eat his candy. His mom found him the next morning asleep on the kitchen table, surrounded by wrappers. I didn't know that much puke could come out of such a little kid."

"They do tend to do that," Anna said, wrinkling her nose.

"You know, I still can't believe Kurt let Blaine and Francey talk him into being Star Wars characters for Halloween," Burt said. "Thought for sure he'd want to wear some fancy frou-frou thing again."

"Well, he makes the cutest little Han Solo I ever did see," Anna said. She patted Burt's arm. "I'm so glad you brought him with my little ones. Blaine talks all the time about how Kurt is his best friend. And besides, it helps to have an extra hand to wrangle them up."

"Oh, it's no problem," Burt said. "Your husband couldn't make it?"

Anna's cheerful expression faltered for a moment. "Jack…doesn't have much time for the babies," she said.

Burt stuck his hands in his pockets, unsure of what to say, but the kids came running back down the sidewalk. "Mama, they gave me a big chocolate bar!" he squealed, still waving his lightsaber back and forth.

"Oh, goodness, baby lamb, that's exciting!" Anna said.

"They gave me one with almonds and it's nasty, make Blaine trade with me," Francey ordered.

Kurt followed behind the two bigger kids, already nibbling happily on the edge of his chocolate bar. Burt grinned at the sight of his small son in his Han Solo costume, the toy blaster bobbing at his hip. "Don't eat it all at once," he warned.

"I won't," Kurt said. He dropped the bar in his candy bucket and held out his arms. "Daddy, carry me, please?"

Burt knew he ought to say no; Kurt was almost nine, after all, and far too old to be carried. "Sure, kiddo," he said instead, lifting him up and settling him on his hip. "You're getting too big for this, you know."

"But you promised I'd always be your baby," Kurt objected, snuggling his chin on Burt's shoulder.

Burt grinned. "I did, didn't I?" he said, patting Kurt's back. "Well, then, to be fair, I think you've gotta share some of your candy."

"Not the peppermint patties, though," Kurt warned.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

LKSDJFLKJSFJDSLFJDSKLJF BAAAABIES.

This is sort of a sequel to "Be My Best Friend," where Kurt and Blaine meet at peewee football camp and become little tiny besties. And then Blaine was like "MAMA. KURT HAS TO GO TRICK-OR-TREATING WITH US." And then Francey decided that she wanted to be Princess Leia, so she talked Blaine into being Luke and Kurt into being Han Solo.

PRECIOUS. SO MUCH PRECIOUS IT BURNS.

Also, it's a running thing in my stories that Kurt's favorite candy is peppermint patties.


	35. Kurt's First Words

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Come on, Kurt," Burt wheedled. "Come on, buddy. You can say it. Say 'daddy'."<p>

He stretched out on the living room floor beside his baby son, watching the little boy studiously ignore him as he played with a collection of brightly colored blocks and sucked on a pacifier. Burt tickled Kurt's soft little tummy lightly. "You can do it, kiddo," he urged. "Say 'daddy'."

He stuck a finger in the ring of the pacifier and popped it out of Kurt's mouth with a little smack. The baby frowned at him and batted at his face. "You can have it back when you say 'daddy'," he teased.

Kurt's frown deepened and he bopped Burt on the nose. "No," he said clearly. "No, no."

Burt sat up. "Mollie!" he called. "Moll, get in here!"

"What?" she asked as she poked her head out of the kitchen.

"Kurt just said his first word!" Burt said.

"Are you serious? I missed it!" Mollie said, dropping on the floor beside him. "What did he say?"

"Here, let me see if I can get him to say it again," Burt said. He picked Kurt up and set the baby on his knees, then popped the pacifier back in his mouth. Kurt settled onto Burt's lap, sucking happily, until Burt took it away again.

Kurt's little mouth dropped open in horror. "No!" he shrieked, stretching out his small hands. "No, no, no!"

Mollie laughed. "Oh my god, his first word!" she exclaimed. She smacked Burt on the arm and took the pacifier back. "Now stop being so mean to him." She picked Kurt up and settled him on her lap. "Here you go, KK. Here's your paci."

Kurt smiled angelically at her, his blue eyes round and innocent. "Mama," he said clearly.

Burt's jaw dropped. Mollie laughed as she tucked the pacifier into the baby's mouth. "That's what you get for teasing him," she said. She kissed Kurt on the cheek. "That's Mommy's smart little boy."

Kurt just cuddled on her lap, sucking on his pacifier in smug satisfaction.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

CUTEST BABY EVER WHY IS HE NOT MINE .

It's kind of funny that this is the drabble scheduled for today, because I'm also updating Lima Loser later. AND YAY KURT IS GOING TO BE BORN.

(Lima Loser is all about Burt and Mollie falling in love and getting accidentally pregnant and then married and then they have Kurt and then they raise their adorable little boy and then Mollie dies.)

Woo, I'm rambly this morning. SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED ON THE INTERNET YAAAAY!

But yeah.

Also, I think I'm going to have pie for breakfast.

SHUT UP PIE IS THE BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS!


	36. First Apartment

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt halted in the front door, staring wide-eyed. "Blaine," he said.<p>

"Uh-huh?" Blaine grunted, struggling to hold onto the cardboard box in his hand.

"Blaine, this is our place," Kurt said reverently. "This is our home. This is our first home together. We're going to sleep here and make dinner together here and…and have sex in every room…and then not tell people when they come over that we've had sex in every room…and…and I'm going to decorate it perfectly suit both of us, and someday we'll bring our babies home to this house and-"

"Kurt, this is extremely sweet and I would love to kiss you senseless and get started on that having sex in every room idea you have, but for the love of God, babe, can you _please _open the door before my arms break off?" Blaine huffed, the heavy boxes nearly bending him in half.

"Oh!" Kurt said, startled, as he hastily jammed his key in the lock. "Sorry."

Blaine hefted the boxes through the doors. "Why aren't you following me?" he asked. "You promised me sex. And sex can't happen if you're standing outside staring at our front door. Come on, hurry up."

Kurt grinned and shut the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

AND OF COURSE I JUST STOP THERE.

Trololololololo.

I wonder what would happen if I ever wrote smut...


	37. Burt and Mollie

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"No," Mollie said flatly.<p>

Burt blinked. "No what?" he asked.

She looked him up and down, hands on her hips, rumpling the crinoline of her pale pink prom dress. "You look terrible," she said. "Powder blue? It's disgusting."

"They told me it was cool," he objected.

Mollie rolled her eyes. "We clash," she informed him as she grabbed his hand. "Sometimes I wonder what I see in you, Burt Hummel, because it certainly isn't your fashion sense. Now let's go, or we'll miss the whole prom."

He just grinned as she dragged him into the crepe-paper-festooned gym. She really was awfully cute.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

SLDKJFLDKSJLFK DRABBLE Y U SO SHORT? SERIOUSLY. HOW YOU BE SO SHORT?

Sigh.

I'm going to post a second drabble today, just to make up for this...

This was inspired by Burt telling the boys about his prom attire in the "Prom Queen" episode. I just knew that Mollie would be horrified by his outfit choice.

But yes! In case you were curious about my silence, I was off at summer camp, bein' the world's best counselor! I've taught middle school Sunday School for five years, and every year we take our kids (usually around 200 or so!) to summer camp for a week. It was an _amazing _week, my kids are fantastic, God was phenomenally present, I am slathered with oozing bug bites, and I am happy to be home where there is air-conditioning, carpet, and a Cheetoh-free shower. (Don't ask...)

But now I'm back! And ready to write! And stuff! I hope you missed me! I missed all of you...


	38. AndersonHudmel Game Night

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"No!" Kurt shrieked. "No, that's cheating! Finn, put that down!"<p>

Finn blinked. "But that's how my mom always played it with me," he objected.

"Well, your mom is wrong," Blaine said. "You can't put a hotel there."

"Yes, I can," Finn argued. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Francey smacked Finn upside the head. "You can't say that about my brother! Only I can, you dumbass," she said. "Blaine, you don't know what you're talking about."

Blaine huffed and folded his arms, surveying the Monopoly board spread out in front of them. "No. Kurt and I are right," he said firmly. "Check the instructions."

Francey reached across Finn's lap to get the instruction booklet. Finn frowned and grabbed her arm. "What are you- oh my god, she's cheating!" he exclaimed.

Francey hastily rolled down the sleeve of her jacket. "No, I'm not," she said.

Kurt turned on Blaine. "You're the banker," he accused. "Have you been helping your sister cheat?"

"We play with alliances," Blaine said meekly. "It was the only way we could beat our parents when we were little."

Kurt scooted away from Blaine and onto Finn's side of the gameboard. "Then Finn and I have an alliance," he said firmly.

"We do?" Finn said. He rifled through his messy stacks of play cash. "Oh, wait, we haven't added the brownie points yet."

"Brownie points?" Blaine asked, wrinkling his nose.

"Yeah, my mom always added brownie points," Finn said. "She would count how many houses and hotels were on the board and then give points for that. I don't know why she did that; it always made me win…"

Francey slapped him upside the head. "Stupid, she did that so that the game would end faster," she said.

Finn's jaw dropped open. "Oh," he said. "That's why she always sent me to bed when the games were over."

Francey frowned at the cluttered board, piles of plastic houses, and stacks of brightly colored fake money. "Do you know what?' she said.

Without waiting for a response she swept the game and its myriad of pieces off the coffee table. "This game is fucking stupid. Who wants to watch Pirates of the Caribbean?"

"Oh, me," Finn said, relieved, scrambling onto the couch beside Francey.

"Thank goodness," Kurt sighed, plunking down on Francey's other side.

Blaine clambered up with them as Francey switched on the television and sprawled out across their laps, his head on Kurt's knee. "I think game night should be canceled in favor of movie night," he said, and Finn nodded solemnly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

SDFJSDLKJFKLSD THEY ARE SO CUTE.


	39. Finn, Thou Eternal Cockblock

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>They came home from school with every intention of having some kind of wild makeout session while the house was still empty.<p>

But then Blaine dozed off in the car, and by the time they got home, Kurt couldn't keep his eyes open either. So they stumbled inside and collapsed on the couch instead, kicking off their shoes and shrugging off their blazers and curling up together, sharing very few words until they were both fast asleep on the couch, Blaine's legs flopped akimbo and Kurt snoring lightly into his neck.

Kurt woke up first, an hour and a half later, with that warm, heavy feeling that always seemed to follow a long, unexpected nap. Blaine still slept deeply, his mouth gaping a little and his arms curved around Kurt's waist and shoulders, pressing him closer.

Kurt nestled between the curve of Blaine's side and the back of the couch, nuzzling the soft silky hair at the nape of his neck. Blaine didn't rouse and he started kissing him, dropping airy little pecks on his neck and cheeks. Blaine sighed in his sleep, content and tuneless, and Kurt buried his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting warm smell as he kissed him.

And then he sensed a presence above him- a tall, gangly, awkward presence. "Finn," he croaked, his voice half whining. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," Finn said, draping his coat over its usual hook. "Watching you guys snuggle."

"That's creepy," Kurt whined. He would have moved, but he was so comfortable and warm and Blaine's arms were so tight around him. "You're ruining the moment. Go away."

"He looks like a puppy hugging a stuffed animal," Finn snickered.

Kurt scowled in his general direction. "You're gonna wake him up," he complained.

Finn grinned, but he leaned over to pat Kurt's back affectionately before ambling out of the living room. Kurt sighed and cuddled up closer to Blaine.

"'s he gone?" Blaine mumbled sleepily, his eyes still closed.

"Uh-huh," Kurt said, going back to kissing his neck. "I'm sorry. Didn't mean to wake you up."

Blaine smiled, his eyes cracking open. "If he's gone, then I can do this," he murmured, and he tilted his head until his lips could touch Kurt's.

Kurt sighed, sagging into Blaine's arms, and kissed him back, slow and sleepy and languid. It was easier to focus on the little things when they kissed like this- the way he smelled like laundry detergent and nice cologne and coffee and cinnamon, the soft press of his full lips against his, the warm clutch of his hands against his back, the light catch of his teeth against his lower lip.

Kurt shuddered a little in happiness as Blaine kissed him thoroughly, still lost in a sleepy haze. He curled his toes up in a happy shiver as the press of Blaine's hands traveled lower, and he couldn't help but moan a little as Blaine's fingertip brushed against the soft skin hidden under the waistband of his pants.

"So, you guys want to watch a movie or something?" Finn inquired.

Kurt broke away from Blaine so fast he nearly got whiplash. "Finn!" he shrieked.

"What? What'd I do?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

And this, ladies and gentlemen, is further proof that I am clearly incapable of writing something without Finn interrupting.

Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to go back to writing my badboy!Kurt and badboy!Blaine AU World War I-era fic.

(Anyone want to read that?)


	40. Prepared

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine stared at the array of items across his bed.<p>

His cellphone, fully charged.

A packet of tissues he'd taken from his parents' bathroom.

A little roll of gauze.

One of those small ice packs that turned cold when you cracked it.

"Blaine? Honey, if you don't leave for Kurt's house soon, you'll be late for prom."

He hurriedly shoved the items into the pockets of his jacket and trousers, spreading them out so that Kurt wouldn't suspect anything when they pressed up close.

He just had to be prepared this time, that was all.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

GKJSDKLFJDLSKJFKL. BLAINE FEELINGS.

This was inspired by a HQ screenshot my darling friend Daxie (daxterdd on Tumblr) posted from the Prom Queen episode, of Blaine handing the packet of tissues to Kurt so he could dry his tears. All I could think was "what kind of teenage boy actually carries tissues around with him?"

And then I realized it was the kind of teenage boy who's already had one school dance end in tears and blood, and would go to the next one prepared for battle.

MY CREYS.

But anyways.

So I gave in and started posting the WWI-AU-badboys!Klaine story! It's called "Human Croquet" and lskdfjldskjfklds I love it. I'm going to try to just crank this one out...


	41. The Mother Ducker Song

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Daddy, I do not like preschool."<p>

Burt glanced in the rearview mirror at his very small, not-quite-four-year-old son. Kurt was buckled in his carseat, his beloved pacifier in his hand and a scowl on his face. "Yeah?" he said. "Why don't you like preschool, bud?"

"It's dumb," he scoffed. "We sing dumb songs. I don't like 'em. I want Mommy songs."

"Your mom has better taste in music than most people, me included," Burt said. "What kind of dumb songs do they make you sing?"

"Don't like the mother ducker song," Kurt said.

Burt did a double take. "The _what_?"

Kurt started to sing, his voice sweet and mostly on key, even though he still had a rather babyish lisp. "Oh, that song," Burt said. "Oh, yeah, I know that one."

He started to sing it, knowing full well that his toneless, croaky singing voice was not one of his son's favorite sounds in the world. "Daddy, no!" Kurt protested. "No! 'top it! 'top it, Daddy! I'm telling Mommy!"

Burt stifled a laugh as he kept singing. Kurt popped the pacifier into his mouth and clapped his hands over his ears, solemnly glaring at his father with a look that said _bitch, if you do not shut up, I will come over there and make you shut up._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

If there was a competition for "cutest toddler ever invented," I do believe Kurt Elijah Hummel would win in a tempestuous landslide.

This was inspired by a prompt where someone mentioned the "be kind to your web-footed friends" song, and this happened. I feel that Kurt was a very refined, snobby toddler.

But with a lisp and a pacifier because alfkjdsklfjldskjfldsf, so cute._  
><em>


	42. Sleepovers

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>This was the greatest day of Blaine's six-year-old life.<p>

He had never gotten to go to a sleepover before, but he had always dreamed about it. And when Kurt's mommy told his mama that he could come stay the night, he had held his breath until his mama said yes.

And it had been marvelous. His mama had dropped him off with his little suitcase right after lunch, and after staring shyly at Kurt for a few minutes, Kurt had suggested that they go outside and play on his swingset. After that, it was like they hadn't stopped moving. They played Little Mermaid and dragon killers and ninjas and tea party and pioneers and superstars until they were hot and exhausted and Kurt's mommy called them in to wash up for dinner.

They ate dinner in the living room (Blaine had never experienced anything so exciting before) while they watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. Kurt's daddy kept teasing them and said he was going to make them watch the history channel, but Kurt's mommy just laughed.

After dinner they had cake and ice cream (Blaine asked if it was somebody's birthday; Kurt shrugged and said his mommy liked baking things) while they played with Kurt's impressive Power Rangers collection on the living room floor. Kurt's daddy read a magazine about cars while his mommy sewed buttons on a shirt. And they talked too, in soft happy voices. He didn't know mommies and daddies could sound happy like that.

But as Kurt paused for the fifth time to yawn hugely, the red Power Ranger figure falling from his small hands, Miss Mollie put her sewing down and beckoned to them. "I think it's time that little boys were in bed," she said. "Put the toys away and let's go upstairs."

"Mommy, we're playing," Kurt objected.

His mommy kissed the top of his head and took the toy out of his hand. "You can play with Blaine in the morning, sweetheart," she said. "Now come on, both of you. Bedtime."

Blaine followed Kurt upstairs and trailed behind him through all of Kurt's usual bedtime routine- pajamas, teeth brushing, and face washing. "Ready for bed?" Miss Mollie said as they traipsed back into Kurt's bedroom.

"Wait, I have to say goodnight to Daddy!" Kurt said, dashing down the hall.

Blaine crept after him, peeking through the railing of the stairs. Kurt climbed onto his daddy's lap as Mr. Burt put aside his magazine. "Night night, Daddy," Kurt said cheerfully, plunking down on his father's knees and locking his arms around his neck.

"Good night, Kurt," Mr. Burt smiled, hugging him tightly. "Sweet dreams. And don't stay up all night playing with Blaine, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt said. He leaned in to kiss his daddy on the cheek, then slid off his knees. "And Mommy's gonna tuck me in, so you can tuck me in tomorrow, okay?"

"I'll remember," Mr. Burt said. "Love you, kiddo."

"I love you too, Daddy," Kurt said.

Blaine snuck back to Kurt's room, his mouth tugging down into a frown. He didn't know daddies were supposed to hug you goodnight and let you sit on their lap and promise to tuck you in. Daddies were supposed to pat you on the head and tell you to go find your mother.

Miss Mollie was humming lightly to herself as she closed the curtains over Kurt's window. Kurt skipped past Blaine and launched into her, throwing his arms around her waist. "I'm ready for sleep, Mommy," he said.

"Well, get into bed, KK," Miss Mollie said with a smile. "You too, Blaine."

Kurt hopped into his bed and flopped back against the pillows. Blaine crawled into bed next to him. "Sweet dreams, little ones," Kurt's mommy said as she drew the blankets over them. "Come get me if you need me."

Blaine folded his hands over the blankets and closed his eyes as Miss Mollie bent to kiss him lightly on the forehead. She smelled nice, like strawberries and caramel popcorn, and her hair was soft as it brushed his cheek.

Kurt leaned up to kiss his mother. "Night night, Mommy," he said. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweet boy," she smiled, dropping an extra kiss on his cheek. "Have a good sleep."

She got off the bed with a light pat on Kurt's tummy and walked over to turn off the lights. "Turn on the nightlight," Kurt said, popping up. "And say the thing, say the thing about my nightlight."

Miss Mollie smiled and flipped it on, looking like an angel in the half light. "Dear nightlights that protect my sleeping children, burn clear and steadfast tonight," she said. "Now sleep, little ones."

She closed the door behind her. Kurt settled back in his bed with a contented smile. "I have the best mommy ever," he declared. He flipped onto his side to smile at Blaine, his hands tucked under his chin. "Do you like my mommy?"

"Uh-huh," Blaine said, still staring up at the ceiling. "'Cept my mama is awfully nice too. I love her."

"Uh-huh," Kurt said in a voice that said _well, duh_.

Blaine bit his lip. Now he was thinking about his little blonde mommy, flitting around his room tidying things up while he got ready for bed, and tucking him snugly with a light kiss on his forehead, and his sister sneaking into his bedroom after lights out so she could say goodnight to him, and…

"Blaine?" Kurt whispered, scooting closer. "Blaine, why are you crying? Does your tummy hurt? Should I get my mommy?"

"Nooo," Blaine whimpered. "I want…I want _my _mommy."

Kurt's little mouth rounded into a small O. "Do…do you want to go home?" he ventured. "My daddy can take you home."

"No, I want to stay and play with you, but…I want my mama too," Blaine whispered.

Kurt bit his lip. "Okay, this is a secret and you can't tell anybody," he said, reaching under his pillow. "But this always makes me feel better when I'm sad, so I'll share, okay?"

Kurt pulled out a folded blue baby blanket and shook it out, draping it over both of them. Blaine patted it lightly and sniffled. "This is nice," he said.

Kurt scooted closer until he was cuddling against Blaine's side. Tentatively he leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. "Night night, Blaine," he said.

Blaine smiled and kissed Kurt on the cheek too. "Night night, Kurt," he said.

Before long Kurt fell asleep with his cheek pillowed on Blaine's shoulder, his little mouth gaping as he breathed deeply. Blaine smiled, and without realizing it he fell asleep too.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

AUGH. BABIES. FEELINGS. BABIES WITH FEELINGS.

LKJLKJLKDFDSF I JUST WANT TO PICK THEM UP AND SNUGGLE THEM AND GIVE THEM KISSES.

ALL THE BABIES.

SOMEONE GIVE ME ALL THE BABIES.


	43. Blaine Vs the Wasp

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Blaine? Blaine? Earth to Blaine."<p>

"Paging Mr. Anderson."

"Good morning, sunshine, the earth says hello."

Blaine struggled to open his eyes. "What do you want?" he croaked.

Three blurry figures in Dalton uniforms leaned over him. "Hm, I think you made a good call, Wes," David said.

"What are you talking about? I always make good calls," Wes retorted.

Blaine sniffled loudly. "Why'm I in my room?" he mumbled. "Where…are my pants?"

"Uh...on your body," Wes said. David snickered.

Dylan crouched next to him. "Hey, bud," he said. "Do you remember passing out in rehearsal?" Blaine scrunched up his nose, trying to think back. The big beatboxer sighed. "Nope. Okay. Well, you got stung by a wasp and passed out in rehearsal. Did you know you're allergic?"

"No," Blaine said, frowning. "Don't…remember that."

"Well, long story short, you're going to be fine, but you're going to be miserable for a while," David said. "No rehearsal for you. Or performance at the park tomorrow."

Blaine struggled to sit up. "But…my solo…" he whined, trying to ignore the way the room spun around him.

"We're giving it to Nick till you're better," Dylan told him cheerfully.

"Not Jeff, though," Wes said darkly. "Never Jeff."

David rolled his eyes and forced Blaine to lie back down. "You're just going to take it easy for a while," he said. "And we knew you were going to fight this, so we brought in reinforcements." The door creaked open and David glanced up. "Ah. Speak of the devil."

Kurt sashayed into the room, smiling down at Blaine, and suddenly all Blaine wanted to do was crawl into Kurt's lap and hide until the room stopped spinning. "Hi, honey," Kurt said sitting down beside him and pressing his cool hand to Blaine's hot forehead. "Good, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

Blaine whimpered and grabbed onto Kurt's knee. "That bad?" Kurt cooed, stroking his fingers through Blaine's curls. "It's okay. I know just what to do."

"We'll leave you in your boyfriend's capable hands," Wes said.

Dylan patted Blaine's shoulder. "Feel better, buddy," he said.

"Call us if you need us," David instructed before ushering the other two boys out and closing the door.

Kurt bent to kiss Blaine's forehead. "Well, I think you sufficiently scared the Warblers," he said. "Nick, Jeff, and Trent called me at the same time telling me to get over here."

"Don't remember," Blaine mumbled, rubbing his cheek against Kurt's thigh. "So sleepy."

"A champion dose of benadryl will do that to you," Kurt said. He kept stroking Blaine's hair. "So you're tucked in bed and comfortable. Are you thirsty? I ran out and got you some Gatorade. And more benadryl if it wears off."

"My chest hurts," Blaine complained.

"That's what happens when you get stung and you're allergic," Kurt said gently. "I already called your mom, she's taking you to the doctor tomorrow to get tested."

Blaine scooted closer and wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist. "I want to take a nap," he mumbled into Kurt's knees.

"We can take a nap," Kurt smiled. He reached down to tug off his shoes. "Scooch over, give me a little room."

Blaine obeyed sleepily as Kurt took of his shoes and button-up shirt. "Kurt," he said.

"Mm-hm?" Kurt said as he tugged down the hem of his undershirt and crawled into bed beside Blaine.

"You're not allowed to leave me."

"Okay," Kurt said, snuggling close and kissing him lightly "I can handle that."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Blaine is adorable. The end.

Seriously, though. Blaine. Precious. Captain Precious Snugglebear.

Don't mind me, I'm just in a very cuddly mood.

(But now I want someone to call Blaine Captain Precious Snugglebear...)


	44. The Elephant

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>It had been a day.<p>

Blaine trudged up the stairs because of course, on a day like today, the elevator would be broken and he would have to walk all the way up to their apartment. His shoes squelched noisily with every step, squeezing out water in a trail of dribbled puddles. The sky had been clear and blue and lovely when he left that morning; why did it have to start pouring while he was walking the four blocks from the subway stop to his building?

He rounded the stairwell and sighed. One more floor to go. One more floor, and then he could get out of his wet clothes and wait for Kurt to get home while he tried to forget the stupidity of the freshmen he was supposed to be teaching. He sniffled loudly, then rolled his eyes. "Of course I'm getting a cold," he sighed, feeling that awful tickle in the back of his throat.

He reached their apartment door and fumbled with his key until it slid into the lock and turned with a rusty click. With a heavy sigh that nearly turned into a cough he stumbled inside, half-heartedly wiping his wet shoes off on the welcome mat.

He paused and looked up slowly. The apartment was cozy and warm and smelled like some sort of amazing dinner was waiting for him. Music played quietly, and as he rounded the corner towards the kitchen he found the table set. It wasn't a surprise to come home to a fancy tablescape, but it was pretty unusual to find a stuffed animal as a centerpiece.

"What's with the elephant?" he mumbled, dropping his attache case to the floor.

Kurt poked his head out from the pantry. "Oh, you're home!" he said. "Finally."

Blaine frowned. "Why're you home?" he said.

"One of the perks of being in charge, I set my own hours," Kurt said, leaning in to kiss Blaine. "And besides, I have good news and I wanted to surprise you." He paused. "You're soaked."

"It's raining," Blaine sulked.

Kurt tilted his head, smiling sympathetically. "Well, go get changed and you can have dinner," he said, brushing Blaine's drenched, bedraggled curls off his forehead.

"No, no, I've been wet and miserable all day, I can stand it a little longer," Blaine said. "What's the good news?"

Kurt beamed, bouncing up on his toes, and took Blaine by the hands. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"Painfully so," Blaine said.

Kurt linked his fingers through Blaine's. "I dropped off our application at the adoption agency today," he said.

It felt like a weight fell off his shoulders. "Really?" he said.

"Uh-huh, and Jody said our paperwork was perfect," Kurt said. "She said that we should get approved, no problem."

"Kurt, that's amazing," Blaine said. "That's just…" He stopped, grinning so widely he could barely speak. "That's amazing."

He leaned in to hug Kurt, only to have his husband lean away. "You're wet, you're wet," Kurt said. He patted Blaine's shoulders gingerly. "Go get changed and then I can hug you."

"I suppose that's fair," Blaine said, kissing him on the cheek. "I'll be right back."

He hung his wet clothes over the shower railing in the bathroom and changed into sweatpants, a threadbare tee shirt from high school days, and thick socks, then headed back to the kitchen, ruffling ruefully at his still-damp curls. He paused. "Where'd you go?"

"Living room, honey."

Blaine wandered into the living room to find that Kurt had moved the important pieces of the table settings to their coffee table, along with the soft stuffed elephant centerpiece, and turned on the Buckeyes game. "Oh, you are a saint," Blaine moaned, sinking down in the depths of their couch.

Kurt settled down next to him. "You looked like you'd had a hard day," he said. "I thought you'd be more comfortable like this."

"You are amazing," Blaine said, kissing Kurt lightly.

"Thank you, I try," Kurt said. "Now eat. This is absolutely no good when it's cold."

They chatted amiably during commercial breaks, Kurt managing to keep his thoughts on sporting events to himself for most of it. Eventually Blaine set his empty bowl aside and stretched out the length of the couch, his head resting on Kurt's knees. Kurt toyed idly with his wild curls, his eyes slowly closing in sleepiness as the game wore on.

The game switched to a commercial and Blaine's eyes wandered to the elephant on the coffee table. A half-excited, half-anxious thrill ran up his spine. "So…the elephant," he ventured.

Kurt opened his eyes. "I thought it would be cute but gender neutral," he said. "Since we didn't specify if we wanted a boy or a girl. I thought…that maybe we could start thinking about the nursery."

Blaine smiled, imagining their guest room-slash-study decorated in soft colors and cute elephant motifs. "I like that you're thinking of the nursery before everything else," he said.

"I never said I wasn't thinking of other things," Kurt said, his fingers firm and gentle as he trangled them in his hair. "The nursery is just the easiest thing."

"What about names?" Blaine asked. "Should we start thinking of names?"

"Well, if it's an older child, they might already have a name," Kurt pointed out.

Blaine rolled onto his stomach to look up at Kurt. "But we specified that our preference was for a baby," he pointed out. "So what if we get a baby without a name? Or something plain, like…Ann, or John, or…Bob."

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "Oh, god, Blaine, don't even talk like that," he said. He sighed. "Of course I've thought of names."

"You know, Alexandria would be pretty for a girl," Blaine said.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Alexandria Anderson-Hummel? She'll be ten before she can spell it," he said. He smiled, his expression softening. "I always wanted to name a daughter after my mother."

Blaine sat up. "That would be pretty," he said. "Mollie Anderson-Hummel. It's adorable."

"But just watch, we'll probably have a boy," Kurt said. "And he'll grow up to be the butchest, manliest, straightest boy ever. And we'll have to figure out how to talk to him about girls. And he'll probably want to be a football player."

Blaine laughed and pulled Kurt into his arms. "Don't worry about it," he said, brushing his lips against the top of Kurt's head. "Let's just think about what we have now. That we've put in our application and we're waiting to hear back."

Kurt sighed as Blaine began to rub the base of his spine with the heel of his palm. "This is so complicated," he said. He poked Blaine lightly. "If only you were a woman. One night of unprotected sex, and bam."

Blaine laughed, leaning over to kiss Kurt's neck. "At least we still have the sex part," he said. He smiled into the crook of Kurt's shoulder. "And speaking of which…"

He moved his lips lightly against Kurt's soft skin, kissing him until he shivered. "So are you…in the mood now?" he said.

"Guess," Blaine mumbled before tugging at the hem of Kurt's sweater until he leaned far enough forward to pull it off, mussing his hair into a staticky mess. He wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist, leaning forward on his knees as he kissed down his neck and shoulder. Kurt sighed, long and slow, arcing his back.

Blaine slid his hand around Kurt's hip and squeezed lightly, making Kurt suck in his breath sharply and reach up to grab his hair. "Mm, you like that?" Blaine teased, his hand slowly easing lower.

"Blaine, it's not fair, it's not…" Kurt groaned. "Okay. Bed. Now. Bed please now."

Blaine sucked lightly on Kurt's neck. "You don't want to just do it here?" he teased.

Kurt turned around in his arms, tangling his free hand in Blaine's shirt. "The things I have in mind require more space than a couch," he said breathlessly.

Blaine stared at him for a minute, then scrambled to his feet, dragging Kurt up with him. "Bed it is!" he said, linking his fingers through Kurt's.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

This was written for my Jennybean, who wasn't feeling well at the time and requested a drabble that included Klaine, snuggles, and a stuffed elephant. I HOPE SHE WAS PLEASED.

Also, this time instead of Finn cockblocking...I COCKBLOCKED! BWAHAHAHA. This is one of my special skills, I suppose.


	45. Sick KK

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"I'm home!" Mollie called, dropping her suitcases by the door with a heavy sigh. "Burt, if they ever try to send me to another teacher's conference again, remind me to say no."<p>

She frowned. Usually when she was gone for more than a day, she came home to a house in chaos, with her husband attempting and failing to cook dinner and her child running around in some kind of outlandish outfit while he sang at the top of his lungs. But the house was quiet, and only moderately cluttered. Something was up.

"Burt?" she called.

She stepped into the living room to find her husband in the recliner with Kurt in his arms while the TV played on quietly. Ordinarily she would find that adorable and tease him about it, but there was something tense about Burt's mouth that made her pause. "Burt, what's wrong?" she asked.

"He's sick," Burt said. "He woke up with a fever and a sore throat this morning. He won't sleep, he won't eat…"

Mollie bent over her little boy. Kurt was curled up in his father's lap, his face flushed and damp and his eyes glazed over. "Hi, precious," she whispered. "Honey, it's okay. I'm home." Kurt blinked slowly and held out his arms, whimpering a little. Mollie picked him up. "Mommy's home. Mommy will make it better."

She held him on her hip as he rested his head on her shoulder. "His temperature's been around 101 all day, so I gave him some Tylenol earlier," Burt said, smoothing Kurt's ruffled hair. "But he won't eat anything, and I couldn't get him to take a nap. We've been watching that damn Sound of Music all day."

Mollie ran a consoling hand up and down Burt's arm. "You did good, champ," she said. "You did good." Kurt made a distraught little noise and buried his face in Mollie's neck; she kissed the top of his head. "Go heat up some tomato soup. Not too hot."

"I can handle that," Burt said, bending to kiss Mollie on the cheek.

Mollie balanced the three-year-old on her hip as she kicked off her shoes. "Let's get you cooled off, honey," she said. "You're too hot. It's not fun, is it?"

Kurt shook his head, his small arms tightening around her neck. She carried him into the bathroom and set him on the counter. "Does your tummy hurt at all?" she asked as she tugged off his shirt.

He shook his head and she smiled. "That's good," she said. She pulled a clean washcloth from the linen closet and rinsed it in cold water. "Does your head hurt?"

He shook his head again. "My froat hurts, Mommy," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper.

Mollie laughed as she touched the damp washcloth to his hot forehead. "You sound like a little old man," she teased, smoothing the washcloth along his round cheek. He wrinkled his nose. "It's okay, though. Mommy will fix it."

She bathed his hot skin gently as he sat still, his small mouth drawn into a pout. By the time she finished he seemed calmer and even smiled at her. "Better, lovey?" she asked. He nodded and she scooped him up. "Good. I want you to feel better."

She carried him back to his room and dressed him a clean pair of pajamas (the ones with the stars on them, he liked those best), but before she could pick him up, he toddled down the hallway towards the kitchen. She smiled and followed him.

Burt glanced away from the stove and grinned. "Hey, scooter," he said, holding out his arms. "You feeling good now that Mommy's home?"

Kurt went to him immediately and latched his arms around Burt's knees. Burt laughed and picked him up as Mollie peeked into the saucepan and tested the temperature. "This is perfect," she said. She pulled a clean sippy cup out of the dish rack and poured soup into it. "KK, want to snuggle on the couch?"

Kurt frowned and stretched out his arms for her, opening and closing his tiny chubby hands. Mollie laughed. "Yes, you can snuggle with Mommy," she said. She snapped a lid on the sippy cup and handed it to Kurt as Burt adjusted him on his hip. "Drink this slow, honey."

He frowned and drew back, shaking his head as he patted at his throat. "I know your throat hurts," she said. "But we need to put something in your little tummy, sweet thing."

Tentatively he took a little sip. He screwed up his face, but he took another. Mollie picked him up. "Let's go watch a movie, precious," she said. "What do you want to watch? Do you want to watch Alice?" He nodded and she hid a grin; he fell asleep every time she put that one in.

She settled down on the couch with Kurt on her lap. He still drank lazily from the sippy cup, both hands clutching it. Burt switched out the tapes from the Sound of Music to Alice in Wonderland, then picked up the blanket from the back of the couch and tucked it around both of them. He kissed first his wife on the forehead, then his small son, and disappeared from the living room.

Mollie wrapped her arms around Kurt's small waist and hugged him close. He felt tiny and soft and too warm in his arms, and she snuggled him closer. "I missed you while I was gone," she whispered, brushing her lips against his cheeks. He patted her hand sympathetically.

The opening credits had finished rolling by the time he forced the sippy cup back in her hand; there was only a little bit left at the bottom of the cup. "Good boy," she praised, kissing him as she set the sippy cup on the end table. "Now your tummy won't feel so empty."

He wiggled around on her lap until he was lying against her, his head pillowed on her collarbone. She stroked his soft, silky hair idly and crooned along with Alice's song as they watched the movie. "All the flowers would have very extra-special powers, they would sit and talk with me for hours in a world of my own," she cooed, lullaby-like, in his ear.

Alice was just about to fall down the rabbit hole when Burt walked back in the living room. "Here you go, kiddo," he said, holding out one of Kurt's pacifiers. Kurt's eyes lit up.

"I thought we were breaking him of that," Mollie said, grinning at him.

"Yeah, well, he doesn't feel good," Burt said, popping the paci in Kurt's mouth. "Do you want me to run out and get you some ice cream too, buddy? Would that make your throat feel better?"

Kurt nodded eagerly. Burt kissed the top of his head. "I'll be back in a bit, Moll," he said.

"I'll be here," she said, tapping one fingertip against the button of the paci. Kurt nestled against her, watching the movie with wide eyes.

Before long, though, his lashes began to droop. One tiny hand reached up to toy with Mollie's hair, tangling her soft brown curls around his fingers. By the time Alice had found herself in the garden of live flowers, Kurt was asleep, the pacifier bobbing slowly in his small mouth, his small chest rising and falling in short even breaths. Mollie cradled him close, feeling the warmth of his feverish skin through his shirt, and kissed his forehead softly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I am a sucker for anything involving wee little Kurt and his mommy. Oh, I wish she wasn't dead.

(And remember, if you want to request a drabble, the best place to do it is my Tumblr ask box! I don't always remember to pull them from reviews or PMs, but if it's in my ask box, I always find it. My name is redbullandcupcakebatter!)


	46. Puckzilla Could Tap That

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Hello?" Puck called, sticking his head in the garage. "Anybody here?"<p>

Finn leaned out of the office. "Oh, hey, Puck," he said. "Sorry, I can't play Halo right now."

"Yeah, I know, dude, you keep talking about your awesome summer job," Puck said. He stuck his hands in his back pockets. "That's kind of why I'm here. Something's wrong with Vanessa."

Finn frowned. "What's wrong with her?" he asked.

"I don't know, dude, that's why I'm here," Puck said. "Take a look at her."

Finn shifted his weight back and forth. "Is it like…headlights? Because I can replace headlights," he said.

Puck gave him a look. "Dude. Seriously? Can't you do anything?"

Finn scratched the back of his neck. "Hey, Kurt?" he called.

Puck jumped back as Kurt rolled out from underneath an SUV. "What do you want?" he asked.

Puck stared. Kurt was…dirty. In kind of a greasemonkey way. He wore coveralls like Finn's, but the shirt half was off and tied around his waist. His tight white tee shirt was stained in spots, there was a smear of oil across one cheek, and his ungelled hair was ruffled in all directions.

"Can you help Puck? It's not headlights," Finn said.

Kurt pushed himself the rest of the way out from under the SUV and Finn pulled him to his feet. "So what's wrong with your pickup?" Kurt asked, brushing off his hands.

"Vanessa's been making these god-awful noises every time I slow down," Puck said. "What do I have to do?"

"What kind of noises?" Kurt asked, brushing his hair back.

"You know," Puck said. "Bad…screechy noises."

"You have to do the noises," Finn said.

"I am _not_."

"It's the best way for us to determine what's wrong with your car," Kurt said seriously.

Puck sighed and let out a series of noises that went from a loud chugging to a high pitched shriek to a whimper. The Hudmel brothers regarded him coolly with their arms folded across their chests.

"Is that it?" Finn asked.

"Yeah," Puck said. "That's it."

Finn and Kurt looked at each other and busted out laughing.

"Hey!" Puck protested. "Not cool, dudes."

Kurt shook his head, still laughing. "Bring your car in," he said. "I think I know what's wrong."

Puck navigated his old pickup carefully into the garage, trying not to hit the noisy brakes any more than necessary, then threw it in park. "So can you fix it?" he asked.

Kurt expertly flipped the hood up and leaned over the engine. "Uh-huh," he said, leaning up on his toes to get a better look. "I think you're completely out of brake fluid, and you need new brake pads. Yours sound like they're completely worn through."

He kept talking, but Puck just stared, tilting his head to the side. Kurt's tight tee shirt slid up his back, revealing smooth perfect skin, and his baggy coveralls weren't doing much to disguise the fact that he had a pretty nice ass. He looked Kurt up and down in appraisal.

"Damn," Puck said. "Between the car thing and that ass, I think I could go gay for you, Hummel."

Kurt whirled around. "What the-"

"Oh," Puck said. "I said that out loud, didn't I?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you did."

Puck stared across the garage as Burt Hummel and Blaine Anderson stood up from behind the Chevy they were working on. Both were glaring fiercely.

Puck swallowed hard. He'd learned a long time ago that Burt Hummel was not a dude to mess with. And Kurt's boyfriend didn't seem like the kind of a guy who could kick your ass, but right now, Puck was willing to bet that Blaine was about to go all MMA Champion on his face.

"Shit," Puck mumbled.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

MM BOY.


	47. Mollie was a Beatles Fan

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Kurt," Mollie called. "Come on, baby, it's time for bed."<p>

She smiled to herself at the sounds echoing down the hall, her three-year-old son laughing and her husband growling playfully. Kurt let out a particularly high pitched shriek as Burt walked into the room with the toddler slung over his shoulder. "Mommy, Mommy, Daddy's a bear!" Kurt howled.

"And I found a little lost bear cub," Burt said with a grin. "What should I do with him?"

"Give him to his mommy! Give him to his mommy!" Kurt shrieked, bursting into giggles as Burt started to tickle him.

"Burt, you're getting him all worked up," Mollie scolded, even though she was hiding a laugh. "It's bedtime."

"Okay, okay," Burt said, sliding Kurt off his shoulder and onto his bed. "You have good dreams tonight, kiddo."

Kurt bounced onto his knees. "Night, Daddy," he said.

"Goodnight, Kurt," Burt said, cupping his hand behind Kurt's head and kissing him on the forehead. "Moll, I'll get the dishes started."

"Thanks," she said, tipping her head back with a smile as he left.

Kurt scrambled quickly onto her lap. His hair was damp and smelled like baby shampoo after his bath, and he was dressed in matching striped pajamas. "Mommy, I wanna play with Daddy," he said.

"Not now, baby, it's bedtime," Mollie said. She picked him up and set him back down on his bed, then handed him a comb. Kurt frowned as he tried to drag it through his damp hair. "So was it a good day today?"

"Uh-huh," he said, twisting up his face as he combed his slightly tangled hair. "I liked going to the park."

Mollie smiled as he continued to talk about his day. She had made this a habit when Kurt got old enough to talk- tucking him into bed after his bath and giving him a chance to tell her about how his day went. It was mostly little things- the games he played, what he had for lunch, what he was going to wear tomorrow- but she could see them doing this as he got older, telling her about school and friends and cute girls.

Or cute boys. She had some suspicions.

But right now she just liked having time with her son, without any real distractions. Besides, if she got him settled into his bed and made sure to answer him in a soft, slow voice, he usually got sleepy pretty quickly.

Kurt handed her the comb back, rubbing his eyes drowsily. Mollie smiled as she smoothed his soft brown hair. "Are you ready for sleep?" she said.

"It's daytime," he objected.

"No, it's bedtime," she said. "It's just summer, and the sun goes to bed after you."

Kurt seemed somewhat satisfied with this explanation and flopped back against the pillow. "Tuck me in," he said.

"Say it nice," Mollie reminded him.

Kurt frowned. "Please, Mommy?" she said.

"That's better," she said. Kurt scooted down into the bed and looked up at her expectantly as she lifted his blankets up and tucked him in snugly. His favorite blue blanket was crumpled at the foot of his bed; she shook it out and draped it over him, smiling at the contented look on his face as he patted it.

"Are you all settled?" she asked.

He shook his head and held out his hand. Mollie sighed. She knew what that meant. It meant that Kurt wanted the pacifier that Burt was dead set on keeping away from him.

It was probably her fault. From the time Kurt was born, it was easy to just pop it in his little mouth to keep him quiet and content. Burt referred to it as "Kurt's mute button." But now he was three and Burt maintained, despite Kurt's wails of protest, that he was too big for his pacifier.

And he was probably right. But he had only turned three two months ago, and he never asked for it during the day, only at naptime and bedtime. At least, that's how Mollie rationalized it as she reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out the little blue pacifier. "Don't tell Daddy," she warned. Kurt nodded eagerly as he popped into his mouth and cuddled under the blankets. She smoothed the covers. "Are you ready for sleep now?"

He pulled the pacifier out of his mouth. "No!" he said. "No, Mommy, sing me a song."

"You want a lullaby?" she said, pinching his soft round cheek lightly. "Which one, sweet boy?"

"The one about the birdie," he said.

She tickled him playfully through the blankets. "My little Beatles fan," she said. "All right, I'll sing the one about the birdie." She popped the pacifier back in his mouth. "But only if you close your eyes and go to sleep."

Kurt nodded obediently, his long lashes fanning out on his cheeks. Mollie stroked his hair and started singing "Blackbird" softly. She didn't have a perfect voice or any real training, but she liked to sing and Kurt liked to hear it. And at least her son humored her love of the Beatles. Burt just rolled his eyes at her when she put on the records for the umpteenth time (she insisted on records; cassettes and CDs just didn't sound right) but Kurt loved them.

By the time she finished, Kurt was fast asleep, still sucking on the pacifier. Mollie bent over him and kissed his cheek. "Goodnight, baby," she whispered. "Sweet dreams."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

ALKDSJFLKDSJFKLKJDSLFJSLDJFL. SOMEONE PLEASE BRING ME A BABY TO CUDDLE.

It really is my headcanon that Kurt's mother was a huge fan- mostly the early years, though, when they were the cute boy band in the matching suits, before they became super hippies. Ad she used to listen to them all the time, and sing, and Kurt grew up associating the Beatles with his mother. And that's why he turns to the Beatles when he wants to be emotional. Beatles=his family.

But aldsjflkdsjfkldsj. Baby Kurt. I want one. Someone...find me a baby to snuggle.


	48. Toast

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Dad. Here." Kurt held up two slices of bread, one dangling from each hand. "You take the bread. You put it in the toaster. That's all."<p>

Burt took the bread warily and dropped it in the slots. "So that's all?" he said.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "No," he said. "You have to slide the lever down."

"Well, you didn't tell me that part," Burt complained. He slid the lever down until it clicked, then frowned. "Shouldn't it…heat up or something?"

Kurt checked the toaster and huffed loudly. "Father!" he scolded. "Electric devices work better when they're plugged in."

"Well, you didn't tell me that part!" Burt protested.

Kurt threw his hands in the air. "Honestly, Dad, it's a miracle that I didn't starve to death after Mom died!" he exclaimed. "I'm leaving you to your toast. Surely you can figure out how to get the toast out and put it on a plate after it pops out."

Kurt regretted his words ten minutes later when the smoke alarm went off.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

This was inspired by the episodes in season 2 where Kurt seems to be teaching his father how to cook. And all he can make is toast. DELICIOUS TOAST OF FATHERLY SUPPORT.


	49. Awkward Humping

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Can you two hurry up?" Kurt asked irritably. "If you would pay attention, you would realize that the line just moved by four people."<p>

Finn and Puck didn't hear him, lost in their own conversation. "Dude, I still think the best SNL sketch ever is the one with Jack Johnson and the Mellow Show," Finn was saying. "With Dave Matthews playing Ozzy Osborne. It's hilarious!"

Kurt let out a snarling huff. Blaine squeezed his hand. "We still have plenty of time till the previews starts," he said. "And aren't you excited that your brother planned a guys' day for all of us to hang out?"

"I would be more excited if they would actually buy the tickets," Kurt sulked. "Mike and Artie had better be saving good seats for us."

"It'll be fine," Blaine reassured him.

Puck and Finn were still lost in their avid discussion. "Hudson, there is no way that that's the best sketch ever," Puck argued. "No way, the best one is the one with Jim Carrey and the 'What is Love?' song."

Finn brightened. "Oh, dude, you might be right!" he said. He started humming the song and Puck started bopping his head back and forth.

"What are they doing?" Kurt said.

Blaine started bopping his head too. Finn grinned. "You? Me? Him?" he said, pointed around.

"And then that chick starts dancing with Jim Carrey, and then-"

Suddenly Kurt found himself trapped between Finn and Puck, both of them singing in obnoxious high pitched voices and bopping their heads back and forth and humping him. Humping him.

"Oh god!" Kurt shrieked, pushing uselessly at the two taller boys who were still howling with laughter. "Oh, god, they're humping me, Blaine, help me!"

Blaine grabbed him by the arm and yanked him out of the Finn-and-Puck sandwich. "Oh, god, that was so scary," Kurt whimpered.

Finn and Puck were still laughing hysterically. "That is definitely the best sketch," Finn said.

"Hudson!" Kurt snapped. "Did you realize what you were doing?"

Finn shrugged. "Oh, we were just doing the sketch and…oh, wait…oh…" he faltered.

"Dude, we just humped your brother in public," Puck said. "Uh…sorry, dude."

Blaine petted Kurt's hair. "It's all right, I saved you from the manwich," he crooned.

"They were humping me," Kurt whimpered.

"I know, babe."

"I am traumatized."

"I know, babe."

"Hudson, you're paying for my therapy."

"Sorry, dude."

"SORRY WILL NOT ERASE THE TERROR OF HUDSON AND PUCKERMAN JUNK TEEMING UP TO HUMP ME."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

THIS WAS DELICIOUSLY CRACKY.

This actually happened in real life. I was Kurt. My husband (then fiance) and his best friend were Puck and Finn. My friend Rose was Blaine. And P totally didn't even realize what happened until afterwards.

And then Kat was like "REMEMBER WHEN THAT HAPPENED? YOU SHOULD WRITE THAT AS KLAINE!"

So I did.


	50. Not Alone

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>He couldn't move, really. Even his facial muscles, carefully schooled into that implacable, bitchy, "you can't scare me" mask he'd perfectly developed, were frozen in a blank expression. He wished he could move. He knew that if this was any ordinary circumstance he would be a goner, shoved into those lockers so hard that his head would swim and tears would smart behind his eyes.<p>

But as Blaine planted his hands on Karofsky's shoulders and shoved, his face twisted up in his righteous anger, the movement painfully slow as time seemed to wind down around them, he knew that things would never be the same.

Because he wouldn't have to do this by himself anymore.

Because he didn't have to hide it from him.

Because Blaine knew, and Blaine loved him, and Blaine was willing to fight for him.

And as he watched Blaine shove David Karofsky back, stepping in between the tormentor and the tormented, he knew that things were going to somehow, eventually, turn out all right.

Because Kurt Hummel had never asked for a hero, but suddenly he couldn't imagine life without him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Goodness! I think this is the shortest drabble I've ever written!

This was written when the teaser for Night of Neglect first aired, and everyone was going haywire because "omg, Blaine pushed Karofsky!" I kept zeroing in on Kurt, who was just frozen, watching Blaine shove Karofsky. And so I wrote this to try to explore the sweet boy's thought process.

And now it makes my heart hurt, because now we know that Blaine had the crap beaten out of him, and the first time Karofsky threatened him he just held his hands up in surrender, but now Blaine loves Kurt enough to defend him, even if he doesn't ask him to do it.

EXCUSE ME I'LL BE RIGHT BACK THERE'S JUST A TREE IN MY EYE.


	51. Territorial

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Lucy tapped her fingers against her vanilla chai latte as the two boys sat down across from her with their coffees in hand. "What's this all about?" she asked, her eyes dancing. "I've never been asked out on a date by two gay boys before. I'm sure that there has something important about all this."<p>

Blaine glanced at Kurt and smiled. "Do you want to tell her?" he asked.

"Tell me what?" Lucy begged.

Kurt linked his fingers through Blaine's and placed his other hand over Lucy's. "Blaine and I are dating now," he announced proudly.

Lucy shrieked happily and clasped her hands, nearly upsetting a container of sugar packets. "Oh my god!" she exclaimed. "You'll have cute babies! Just don't tell Jo!"

Blaine blinked. "Babies might be jumping the gun a bit, Lu," he said. "And also…physically impossible. For us to...you know...procreate."

"Why can't we tell Jo?" Kurt asked. "Would…would she not approve of me dating Blaine? Will she be mad?"

"What? Oh, no, baby, it's not like that," Lucy reassured him, patting his hand. "Don't you worry about Jo. I'll handle her." She took a sip of her latte. "Now, tell me how it all happened. I want to hear everything. The long version, please."

Blaine immediately obliged, but Kurt was fairly certain he could see the tips of his boyfriend's ears turning red. _He's hiding something_, he thought.

But he didn't get to find out what that something was until a week later, when the Warblers and the Larks met at the Dalton rehearsal hall to celebrate the Larks' win at the Ohio Valley Choral Festival. Kurt stayed in a corner armchair, trying to make himself look as small as possible.

Lucy leaned over the top of his chair, resting her chin on the top of his head. "Hiding from Jo, are we?" she asked.

"Maybe," he said. "You made me nervous, Louisa. Why can't Jo know that I'm dating Blaine?"

"Oh, well, she knows now," Lucy shrugged.

Kurt sat up straight, bonking the top of his head against her chin. "Is she going to murder me in my sleep?" he asked.

"Ow," Lucy whined, rubbing her chin. "No, she won't. She's not mad, she's just a little…"

"Territorial," David suggested, leaning over the other side of the armchair. "Jo is very territorial when it comes to Blaine."

Kurt twisted around. "Why?" he asked. "Why won't anyone tell me anything? You're making me nervous."

"Don't be nervous," Lucy said. She perched on the arm of the chair and kissed the top of his head. "You and Blaine are perfect for each other and Jo is ecstatic that you're finally dating."

"Ecstatic, and also territorial," David said. Lucy smacked him upside the head.

"But why?" Kurt complained. "Why won't anyone tell me anything?"

"Tell you about what, my girlfriend's weirdness?" Wes asked, materializing in front of them. He folded his arms. "Yeah, it doesn't make any sense to me either."

"What? What doesn't make sense?" Kurt asked.

"It's weird," Wes said darkly. "A girl shouldn't be this attached to an ex-boyfriend, especially when said ex-boyfriend turns out to be gay."

"Ex-what?" Kurt gasped.

David smacked Wes upside the head. "Stupid, he didn't know yet!" he said. "Now Jo is going to kill him, and we'll lose the best countertenor we've had since 1953."

"Wait, so Jo…and Blaine…they…they really…" Kurt sputtered.

"That they did," Wes said. "For three months in the 8th grade."

"Are you serious?" Kurt demanded.

"Serious as you can imagine," Lucy said. "Well, for 8th graders. Her mom used to take them to movies and sit two rows behind them. And his mom used to have Jo over for dinner on Sunday nights. And they always ate lunch together and held hands during homeroom. So yeah. For 8th graders, they were like…practically engaged."

"But…but…he promised me he was gay! For real this time!" Kurt protested. "I'm really, really sure he's gay!"

"Don't worry, he's gay," David reassured him. "Blaine knew he was gay, even back then. He just didn't know what to do about it. Jo was just super nice and had a huge crush on him and everyone was dating somebody that year."

"Did…did it end well?" Kurt sputtered. "Because they don't really act like they hate each other."

"Oh, no, they're still best friends," Wes said.

"Blaine dumped me the day after he kissed me for the first time during a game of spin the bottle. At my own party."

Kurt swallowed hard and turned around slowly, peeking over the back of the armchair. Jo sighed heavily. "Yes, Blaine and I are still friends, no, I'm not mad that you're dating him, and yes, Wesley, I am territorial," she said. She patted the top of Kurt's head. "Just remember, darling, that if you break Blaine's heart, I break you."

"She'll do it, too," Wes whispered.

Kurt gulped.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

CAN I JUST SAY THAT I LOVE WRITING KURT AND LUCY CONVERSATIONS? LURTY. I SHIP IT PLATONICALLY.

This was actually inspired by some True Life Events. When I was but a wee little eighteen-year-old, I admitted to my friend Kat that I had a crush on a certain fellow named Patrick. Literally the first words out of her mouth were "YOU'LL HAVE CUTE BABIES DON'T TELL ROSE."

It took me _months _to find out why I couldn't tell Rose, but it turned out they dated for a few months in high school, and he broke up with her in a manner that he realized was super stupid about ten minutes after it happened. Luckily, Rose thought Patrick and I were an adorable couple and didn't have a problem with it (unless he did something mean to me, which thankfully he did not) and she was a bridesmaid at our wedding and will be the godmother to our first son. And thus the prophecy shall be fulfilled.

Anyways.

But yeah, man, I ship Lurty like whoa.

Do other people ship Lurty? Because I'm not going to lie, Kurtcedes was such a disappointment last season. ("I'm having a bullying crisis, my dad might die, I'm hopelessly in love" "THEY TRIED TO TAKE AWAY MY TOTS, AND I SAID HELL TO THE NO.") And Kurtchel is such a love-hate thing. "you're my bffle and I love you! NOW I SHALL TAKE AWAY THE BOY YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH. ON PURPOSE. EVEN THOUGH I KNOW YOU LOVE HIM."

And so I write Lurty.

I'll be hiding over here in my Lurty-shipping corner...


	52. All Hummels are Mechanics

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Hold my hand, Emily," Kurt said.<p>

His little sister wriggled out of her booster seat and hopped to the ground, her pink glittery sneakers twinkling in the mid-morning sunlit. "We get to help Daddy, we get to help Daddy," she singsonged, latching onto Kurt's hand happily.

"Well, I'll help Daddy, you'll just run around like a little maniac," Kurt grinned as he shut the back door of his Navigator.

Emily frowned. "I am not a little maniac, Kurty, I'm a little girl," she explained.

"Oh, well, excuse me," Kurt said, smiling down at her as he squeezed her hand and walked her towards the garage.

The impish four-year-old had been left in the care of her father and brother while Carole and Finn spent the weekend in Fort Lauderdale helping Carole's parents move to a retirement home. Originally that had thrown a bit of kink into Kurt and Burt's plans, as Kurt was going to work in the garage for the summer before he headed back to New York City and his fashion degree in the fall, but after some deliberating they realized they could just take Emily to the garage with them and teach her how to work on cars.

Or, at least, she could sit in the office and color.

Kurt held the door open as Emily ran inside. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" she shrieked.

Burt held his arms open as his daughter hurtled towards him. "Hey, there, firecracker," he grinned, catching her in a hug and picking her up. He planted a big kiss on her cheek. "Did Kurt take good care of you this morning?"

"Uh-huh," Emily said, nodding eagerly. "He woke me up and made me breakfast, and it was oatmeal which I don't like but he made it better than Mommy does, and then he braided my hair. See? See? See, Daddy? And he put in the bows, and they match my shoes. See, Daddy?"

"I see, princess," Burt said, tugging on one of her long braids. "So are you going to help me and brother today?"

"Uh-huh, I'm a real good mech'nic," Emily said.

Kurt grinned as he set Emily's monogrammed backpack down on the tattered couch in the office. "Sure you are, Em," he said.

Emily frowned and wriggled out of Burt's arms. "I'm a real good mech'nic," she insisted.

Burt surveyed his two children, sixteen years apart but still alike with their soft brown hair, thin mouths, and matching coveralls. "Well, don't just tell us you're a good mechanic, Emily Carys," he said. "Come on. Me and your brother are gonna work on this Chevy. You gonna help?"

"Yes!" Emily said, clambering onto the hood of the truck.

The three Hummels worked over several cars that day, Kurt proving himself to be just as capable as his father when it came to replacing brake pads and switching out fuel injectors. Emily ran back and forth, fetching the tools and parts they requested and sliding her tiny hands into the depths of engines where the two men couldn't reach.

Blaine drove up in the middle of the afternoon, parking his red jeep beside Kurt's car. "Hey, babe," he grinned as he strode into the garage.

Kurt shimmied out from under a Mustang. "Hi," he said, looking particularly impish with his hair ruffled and a smudge of oil across his cheek.

Blaine helped him up and kissed him lightly. "How long are you staying today?" he asked.

"Not too much longer," Kurt said, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. "I should probably take Emily back pretty soon today."

"Where is she?" Blaine asked.

"Asleep in the office," Burt said, emerging from behind an SUV. "She was a real trooper." He clapped Blaine on the shoulder. "How're you doing, bud?"

"Pretty good," Blaine said. "I came to steal your son."

"We'll take Emmy home and I'll get dinner started," Kurt said. "See you at six, Dad?"

"I'll be there," Burt said.

Kurt walked quietly into the office, Blaine tiptoeing behind him. Emily was asleep on the couch, curled up on her stomach and looking eerily like a photograph of Kurt at the same age, taken by his mother when he fell asleep on the floor of their living room.

Kurt knelt beside the couch and brushed his little sister's hair back. "Emmy," he whispered, kissing her on the forehead. "Wake up, Emmybear."

Her lashes fluttered and she opened her green eyes slowly. "Kurty?" she mumbled.

"Hi, baby," Kurt said. "Come on, get up. Blaine and I are going to take you home."

"Blaine?" Emily yawned, sitting up lazily and holding up her arms. "Somebody carry me, 'kay?"

Blaine leaned over and picked her up easily. "Hi, punkin," he said. "You still sleepy?"

"Uh-huh," she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "Cars make…me…tired…"

She tucked her thumb in her mouth and reached out her other hand for the top of Kurt's head, twining her fingers in his hair. "Let's go home," he smiled.

"Mmkay," Emily sighed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Dear Santa Claus,

I have been very good this year. So for Christmas, if you could please give me a surprise Hudmel "oops we thought were too old for this and didn't use birth control" baby for season three, I would be very excited.

Love, Caitlin

PS: I would also not say no if somehow Quinn Fabray's wardrobe magically appeared in my closet. Just saying.


	53. Fell Asleep Studying

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>He felt something slide out from under his folded arms and he tried to offer a protest, but all that came out was a grumpy whimper. Someone laughed softly.<p>

"Hey, babe," Blaine whispered close to his ear, his breath light against his cheek. He touched his lips to Kurt's warm cheek. "You fell asleep studying again."

Kurt sat up, rubbing at his eyes. "Did I?" he mumbled.

Blaine smiled as he pulled his binder away and closed it. "You sure did," he said. "I know you're trying to keep your grades up, but you need your sleep, too." He sat down beside Kurt, slipping a secure arm around his waist and drawing him close. "You should go to bed."

Kurt curled into him, nuzzling Blaine's neck sleepily with the tip of his nose and breathing in the nice way he smelled like cinnamon and coffee and good cologne. "But my history test," he whined, his voice high and husky with sleep.

"Your history test is next week," Blaine said. He tugged him closer until Kurt was practically on his lap. "You'll be fine. Now, let's get you to bed."

Kurt tugged on the lapels of Blaine's blazer, burying his into his chest as if he was trying to hide. "Carry me," he ordered, his voice muffled. "Too tired to walk."

Blaine tangled his fingers in Kurt's silky hair. "If you can walk to your room on your own, I'll tuck you in," he promised.

"…okay."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

PRECIOUS BOYS.


	54. Fell Asleep Making Out

Disclaimer: Glee belongs Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine felt something soft and warm brush against the tip of his nose. "You gonna wake up?" Kurt asked sleepily.<p>

"Mmwake," Blaine argued.

Kurt nuzzled his cheek. "You fell asleep," he accused, a hint of laughter in his voice. "You fell asleep while we were making out."

Blaine buried his face in his pillow. "Well, you fell asleep with your hand down my boxers, so I think we're even," he said.

Kurt giggled, soft and high and drowsy, and Blaine smiled, rubbing his thumb against the smooth skin of Kurt's side. They fell silent, late afternoon sunlight drenching them as they cuddle-sprawled across Kurt's plush bed, their entire world wrapped up in soft cotton fabric and silky hair across the pillow and the mingled scents of cinnamon and coffee and rosemary and mint.

Kurt let out a light little snore and Blaine stifled a laugh. "Babe," he whispered. He tucked his chin against Kurt's shoulder, kissing his neck soft and slow. "Babe. Baby. You fell asleep."

Kurt blinked rapidly, his bright eyes clouded over. "Hm?"

Blaine leaned up on his elbows, flexing the slightly prickling fingers of the hand trapped under his pillow. "You fell asleep, baby," he grinned.

He nuzzled his way down Kurt's chest, breathing in the scent of dryer sheets and clean soap and strawberries, until he was no longer rubbing his cheek against Kurt-in-a-tee-shirt but just Kurt, the scent of his skin drawing him in as he kissed light circles around Kurt's navel. "You're so tired. We should sleep."

"But the house is empty," Kurt whined, tangling his slender fingers through Blaine's curls. "We should…we should…make out."

But his sentence was broken by a heavy yawn. Kurt squinched up his eyes and opened his mouth wide. Blaine grinned and curled his arms tight around Kurt. "Make out or nap?" he asked, kissing Kurt on the forehead as his boyfriend shimmied in a stretch beneath him, burrowing in the depths of the soft mattress as he raised his arms above his head.

Kurt smiled sleepily, his hair falling carelessly over his forehead. "Nap," he confessed, tugging lightly on Blaine's curls. "I want to go to sleep."

"Good choice," Blaine said. He rolled onto his back, bringing Kurt with him as he locked his arms around Kurt's waist.

"Should I put pants back on?" Kurt asked drowsily, snuggling his cheek into Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine rubbed his knee against the smooth tight muscle of Kurt's bare thigh. "No, no, this is fine," he yawned. "I like this."

"I like you," Kurt said, kissing him on the lips and dropping his head back to Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine smoothed Kurt's hair away from his forehead. "I love you."

Kurt twisted his fingers in the fabric of Blaine's tee shirt. Already half-asleep, Blaine sort of smiled at the feel of Kurt's hand sliding back to the warm spot against his shoulderblades, under his tee shirt.

"I love you more," Kurt whispered, and Blaine just smiled into Kurt's hair, smooth and silky and smelling like heaven, too sleepy to argue.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

These boys. They are too adorable for their own good.

This was actually inspired by a beautiful drawing- I think by adropofred on Tumblr. It's adorable. And there are snuggles. I saw it pop up on my dash and I was like "OMG ADORABLE BEAUTIFUL SLEEPY CUDDLY BOYS, LET ME LOVE YOU DOWN."

And so I wrote this.


	55. Comfort

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt didn't remember waking up. One second he was dead asleep, the next he was staring up at the ceiling, blinking.<p>

Something small and warm burrowed beside him. He rubbed his eyes and lifted up the top quilt to find his son huddled beside him, his pajama shirt buttoned wrong and his soft blue baby blanket hugged to his chest.

"Hey, scooter," Burt murmured, his voice rough and raspy. "Can't sleep?"

Kurt shook his head, his forehead pressed against Burt's side. Burt took him by the arms and tugged him up to his chest easily. "Miss her?" he asked quietly.

Kurt nodded. He buried his face in Burt's chest, clutching his worn OSU tee shirt in his small hands as his shoulders started to shake again.

"I know," Burt said, smoothing his big rough hand over Kurt's silky hair. "I miss her too, kiddo."

He hugged his small son to his chest, stroking his hair and patting his back, wracking his brain for the tender little things Mollie used to do to soothe Kurt into falling asleep.

But Mollie had been gone for two months, three weeks, six days, and nineteen hours.

Burt still couldn't bring himself to sleep in the center of the bed, or even move her pillow from the left side. Kurt still couldn't fall asleep without his mother singing him to sleep, her soft cool fingers making gentle patterns on his back.

So Burt held Kurt close, warm and tight and safe in the protection of his arms, and the two remaining Hummels tried to sleep peacefully again.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Here, let me start your day with some Kurt and Burt creys.


	56. You Belong to Me

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

This drabble was inspired by the song "You Belong to Me" by Jason Wade.

* * *

><p>Blaine couldn't sleep.<p>

He tossed and turned in his bed, twisting his ducky-print sheets around his little legs, but he couldn't fall asleep. The storm raged on outside, pelting rain noisily against the window. Lightning flashed, making him blink, and thunder rumbled. It was too hot with his blankets tucked over him and too cold without them.

The six-year-old sighed, staring up at the ceiling with his arms flopped akimbo, and finally he decided to give in. Carefully he slid out of his big bed and tiptoed towards the door, the carpet soft against his small bare feet. He turned the round doorknob and peered into the darkened hallway; the only light came from the orange nightlight.

Cautiously he slipped out of his bedroom and tiptoed across the hall. His sister's door stood slightly ajar and he snuck inside without making a sound.

His sister slept like a rock under her purple plaid comforter, one hand hanging to the side. He tiptoed closer and closer until he was standing beside her bed. "Francey," he whispered. "Francey, wake up."

An especially loud clap of thunder rolled and he jumped in surprise. "Francey," he called, shaking her gently. "Franney, Franney, wake up, I wanna sleep with you." She grunted. "Can I sleep with you, Franney?"

She cracked one green-gold eye open and nodded blearily. Blaine scrambled quickly into her bed as she scooted over to make room. He cuddled close to her side as she rolled over and promptly fell asleep. His sister's bed was warm and cozy and her breathing was soft and steady. He dropped his curly head beside hers on the pillow and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>Francey couldn't sleep.<p>

That energy drink at six had been a bad idea, she realized. Sure, she needed to finish her history paper, but now it was done and she wasn't tired.

She huffed and tipped back in her desk chair to stare at her ceiling fan lazily rotating. It squeaked in protest every so often, annoying her.

She leaned forward and switched off her desk lamp, sending her bedroom into darkness, but the dark did nothing to help her sudden insomnia. For a moment she sat in darkness, her legs folded Indian-style as she perched on her desk chair, but then she got up and slipped out into the hallway. Maybe a cup of tea would cancel out the Red Bull so she could sleep.

She took two steps before stopping. Her little brother's door was closed tightly. That wasn't a good sign. Blaine liked to sleep with his door open, the familiar nightlight casting warm shadows across the floor.

She tapped the door open and peered inside. The covers were pushed to the floor and Blaine sprawled across his bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Blaine?" she whispered.

He turned his head towards her. "I can't sleep," he said dully.

She sat down on the edge of the bed. "What's wrong?" she asked.

He looked up at her, the dark purple bruise on his cheekbone shadowed against his skin. "I can't sleep," he repeated, his voice sounding tight. "My mind won't stop thinking, and…and I don't want to go to Dalton next semester, and…I _hurt_, Franney." His lips trembled. "It hurts."

"I know," she said, smoothing his short-cropped curls. "I know."

Francey busied herself with picking up his discarded sheets and blankets, trying to keep herself from remembering the night of the school dance when her brother staggered towards her in the middle of the dance floor, his clothes torn and his skin bloodied and his eyes wide and blank from terror. She shook out his covers and draped them over him, smoothing out the wrinkles. He gazed up at her, lost and childlike, and she nudged him lightly. "Scoot over," she said.

He obeyed and she slid in beside him, drawing the blankets up to their shoulders. Blaine curled towards her and she pulled him to her side so his head rested against her shoulder. She could feel the soft shudders of his back as he grabbed onto the sleeve of her shirt.

"Go to sleep, Babbie," she murmured.

"Can't," he said. "Can't sleep."

Thoughtfully she stroked her fingertips against his spine. "What do you want me to do, then?" she asked.

"I don't know," he mumbled into her shoulder.

She settled back against the pillows, debating, until she finally started singing without consciously deciding to do it.

"See the pyramids along the Nile, watch the sunrise from a tropic isle…just remember, darling, all the while…you belong to me."

Blaine relaxed against, his death grip on her sleeve softening. She kept up the rhythm of her fingertips against his back, slow and steady.

"And I'll be so alone without you, maybe you'll be lonesome too…"

She felt his breathing slow and deepen, just the slightest bit. Her fingers stilled against his spine as she kept singing, soft and breathy and soothing.

"Fly the ocean in a silver plane, see the jungle when it's wet with rain…just remember till you're home again, you belong to me," she sang, tangling her fingers in his hair as she sang.

Blaine was asleep, his cheek pillowed against the crook of her shoulder and his breath warm against her neck. Francey kissed his bruised cheek lightly, her own thoughts growing fuzzy as she started to doze with her arms still tight around him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

MY ADORABLE ANDERSON SIBLINGS CREYS.

I always think of Francey as being terribly possessive of her baby brother. And also that when Blaine was little, "Francey" came out as "Franney." THEY'RE JUST SO CUTE.

I have a whole multichapter fic about Blaine's first year at Dalton, and that'll go into the Sadie Hawkins dance. But it's my headcanon that Francey was inside at the dance when it happened, and Blaine escaped the boys beating him and ran inside to find her.

BLAINGST, I TELL YOU. BLAINGST.

But yeah, this was all based on the song. It's so beautiful and soft and sad, and I can just see Francey crooning the song in his ear.


	57. Study Nap

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Blaine," Kurt whispered.<p>

"Mmph."

"Blaine…"

"Mmwhat?"

Kurt nudged Blaine lightly with his elbow. "I thought we were going study French," he said playfully.

Blaine inhaled deeply as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. "I know," he sighed, scooting up to sit beside Kurt. "I'm just so tired."

Kurt kissed Blaine on the forehead. "I told you to go to bed after we got off the phone last night," he said serenely. "It's your fault for not listening to me."

"I know, I know, you can totally say 'I told you so'," Blaine said. He nestled his chin on Kurt's shoulder. "So where were we?"

"Right there," Kurt said, pointing in Blaine's book. "Read that aloud to me."

Blaine fumbled his way through the first sentence, frowning in concentration. Kurt laughed. "Don't make fun of me," he protested sleepily. He dropped the book on the bed with a pout. "You read to me."

"Fine, but you're going to have to take turns too," Kurt warned him. He turned the page back in his book and started reading the French translation of Les Miserables aloud to Blaine, his voice quiet and lyrical as he read of Marius's passionate secret love of Cosette.

Before long he felt Blaine slide against him, warm and pliable in sleep. Kurt smiled down at him and pressed a kiss on the top of his head, breathing in the scent of clean shampoo and cinnamon and coffee as he buried his nose briefly in his boyfriend's thick curls. Then, with one last kiss, he snuggled close to Blaine and kept reading aloud, softening his voice as Marius pursued Cosette through the Tuileries and Blaine slept peacefully beside him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

ADORABLE BOYS ARE ADORABLE.

I hope we get plenty of sweet Klaine cuddles in season 3.

Also, if any of you lovely people read "Someday You Will Be Loved"...you should go check on that. :P And maybe leave a review?


	58. Best Friends

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine scowled and lowered his head, his helmet sliding around. The big Dave kid stood on the other side with his team, cracking his neck as he prepared for them to snap the ball. He was still really mad at Dave. Even though Kurt had switched from football camp to cheerleading camp, Dave had teased him all summer long, about how stupid and girly Kurt was. Usually Kurt didn't act like he even noticed, but sometimes he had gone missing during lunch and Blaine had had to go back into that dirty equipment shed to convince him to stop crying and come back.<p>

Yes, Blaine was still mad at that big stupid Dave.

So when the ball went flying and Dave started to run for it, Blaine gritted his teeth, lowered his head, and lunged for him. He grabbed Dave around the knees and tackled him flat into the grass and dirt, making the bigger kid holler in surprise.

Coach Phil blew his whistle. "Good tackle, Frodo!" Coach Shannon called, clapping her hands. The other boys on his team screeched happily; Blaine took off his helmet and beamed.

The cheerleaders on the sidelines were all clapping and cheering, but one of them was jumping up and down like crazy. "That's my best friend!" Kurt shrieked, his pom poms flailing in his hands. "See? That's my best friend! He's so awesome!"

Blaine beamed. He did feel pretty awesome, and he wasn't sure if it was because he just made the best tackle ever, or because of Kurt's happy voice.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

This was inspired by a oneshot I wrote, "Be My Best Friend." It's basically a sweet little AU oneshot where Blaine and Kurt are wee little things that meet at a summer day camp. Someone asked to see this, and I couldn't say no.

NO ONE CAN SAY NO TO BB!KLAINE. NO ONE.


	59. Furt and Klaine

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Finn stuck his head in Kurt's room. "Hey, you guys hungry?" he asked.<p>

"Not at the moment," Kurt said sleepily. He and Blaine were sprawled across his bed as a movie played; his head was pillowed on Blaine's stomach as his boyfriend toyed with his hair.

Finn plunked down on the bed. "Well, I'm hungry," he announced. "And you know Mom doesn't let me anywhere the kitchen, so…you should feed me."

"You can't make anything for yourself?" Blaine asked, his fingers still tangled in Kurt's silky hair. "I mean, macaroni and cheese is pretty easy, right?"

"Left it to boil too long and it turned into glue."

"Spaghetti?"

"Did you know that ketchup is not an acceptable substitute for marinara sauce?"

"Salad? That doesn't require cooking."

"Blaine. I am not a rabbit."

"A hot pocket?"

"Did you know it's possible to set a microwave on fire?"

"A grilled cheese sandwich?"

"Ha. The last time I made one of those I had an existential religious crisis."

Blaine raised an extraordinarily thick eyebrow. Finn shrugged. "Bad things happen when we allow Finn near a kitchen," Kurt sighed. "Look, Finn, we're almost done with the movie, okay? I'll make you something when it's over."

"But I'm hungry now," Finn whined. He jostled the bed. "Kurt. Feed me."

"But we're at the best part of the movie," Kurt whined back. "And I'm so comfortable. I don't want to move."

Finn frowned. Then a slow, sneaky grin spread his face.. "Then I guess I have to force you to move," he said.

Kurt screwed up his face. "Wait, what are you-"

Finn launched across the bed, dragged Kurt by the belt loops and started tickling his sides. Kurt shrieked. "What are you doing? What are you-" he began, until his words dissolved into hysterical laughter.

Finn pinned his legs down before he had a chance to kick him. "Feed me!" he said, tickling Kurt's stomach. "Feed me! Feed me!"

"Nooooo!" Kurt wailed, still laughing hysterically. "Get off me, Finn! Get off me! I can't breeeaaathe!"

"Not until you feed me!" Finn said.

Kurt was laughing so hard he was wheezing. His face had gone brilliant red and there were tears running down his cheeks. He stretched his hands out to his boyfriend. "Blaine! Blaine, save me!" he howled. "Put your phone down and save me!"

Blaine hastily held up his phone. "Finn, look, I fixed it!" he said. "Truce?"

Finn stopped tickling Kurt long enough to straighten up, still sitting on his brother's thighs, and squinted at the screen of Blaine's phone. "You ordered pizza?" he said. His eyes narrowed. "Wait. Did you order Hawaiian?"

"Of course," Blaine said. "It's only the greatest kind of pizza ever invented."

"Very well," Finn said grandly. "You may have him back."

Kurt scrambled out from under Finn and launched himself at Blaine. "Oh my god, I thought I was going to pee myself," he said.

"Ew," Blaine said fondly, smoothing Kurt's mussed hair.

Finn plopped down beside them, crossing his long legs and squishing Kurt between himself and Blaine. "So what are we watching?" he inquired.

Kurt kicked him sharply in the kneecap, making him wince and draw his knee up protectively. "We are not watching anything," he said haughtily. "Blaine and I are watching Bringing Up Baby, and you are going to go wait by the front door for the pizza guy like the oversized puppy you are. Go on, Scooby Doo."

"That hurt," Finn complained. He thwacked Kurt upside the head.

"Oh, that's it!" Kurt said, elbowing Finn squarely in the solar plexus. "Don't touch the hair!"

"You let Blaaaaaaine touch your hair!" Finn wheezed, doubled over as he still attempted to kick at Kurt. "Ow! I think you broke my ribcage!"

Before they could launch into a full Hudmel Brothers Smackdown (TM), Blaine grabbed his boyfriend around the waist and rolled him to his other side, planting himself between Kurt and Finn. "Kurt, don't you think now is a good time to introduce Finn to classic Cary Grant movies?" he inquired peaceably.

"I've only been trying to do it for months," Kurt sulked, looking less like a fashion plate and more like a pouting preschooler, now that the mousse in his hair had abandoned him and his hair was falling over his forehead.

"And Finn, don't you want to suck up to me, since I'm the one who paid for the pizza?" Blaine continued, his tone sugary sweet.

"I guess," Finn grumbled, his arms folded across his chest, looking very much like an oversized scolded puppy.

Blaine slipped one arm around Kurt's waist and the other around Finn's shoulders. "Then, gentlemen, you are going to kiss and make up, and then we're starting the movie over again, all right?" he said.

Kurt's mouth rounded into an O. "You don't really mean-"

Finn leaned around Blaine and kissed Kurt on the cheek. "Sorry I tickled you so hard you almost wet your pants," he said cheerfully.

Kurt frowned, then gingerly gave Finn a peck back. "Sorry I almost broke your ribcage," he said.

"See? Isn't that better?" Blaine said. He snuggled into the middle of the Hudmel brother sandwich and picked up the remote to start the DVD over again, pausing long enough to kiss the top of Kurt's ear. "Now. We're going to watch this movie in peace, and then we'll eat as soon as the pizza gets here."

Kurt leaned over Blaine's head and stuck his tongue out at Finn. Finn raised his forearms and hit the sides of his fists together.

"Boys. I saw that."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I think this is my favorite drabble so far. It combines all the things I love: Furt, Klaine, and food. DOES LIFE GET ANY BETTER? I SUBMIT THAT IT CANNOT.

I love writing Klaine when they're all cozy and cuddly and happy.

And I love writing Furt when they're super close and affectionate. Especially when Finn is the super affectionate one.

So yes. This pleased me.

Also, have you noticed that everyone in my Glee stories loves Hawaiian pizza? I've made this a running gag. Seriously, go back and look. Every time pizza is mentioned, somebody orders Hawaiian.

Why? Because Hawaiian pizza, man. Fucking delicious.

(I'm sorry I swore. I was just quoting, though.)


	60. Newsies

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine frowned. "Why do I have to be Racetrack?" he asked.<p>

Kurt rolled his eyes as he sifted expertly through the racks of button up shirts. "Oh, come on," he said. "It's perfect. You're perfect. Dark eyes. Dark curly hair. Cocky as all get out."

"I am not cocky, I'm confident," Blaine corrected.

"Same difference," Kurt said loftily, breezing past the thrift store racks like he had them memorized. "Hm, this might work. The trick will be finding the proper pair of suspenders."

Blaine followed Kurt around an endcap full of scarves. "Do we really have to go this far out for our costumes?" he said. "It's only a club performance." Kurt paused to study the scarves, his eyes glazing over with fashion-lust; Blaine put his hands on his waist and steered him back towards the shirts.

Kurt sighed. "We always do full costumes in our performances," he said. "You'll get used to it. It's just a New Directions thing. And trust me, there's no way we could possibly perform 'Seize the Day' if we weren't dressed properly."

He whipped out a plaid button up shirt. "Aha! This will be perfect for my Spot Conlan costume. I'll probably have to take it in a little." He held it up to his chest. "What do you think?"

Blaine looked him up and down. "Adorable," he said.

Kurt gave him a pained look. "Blaine, Spot Conlan is not cute," he corrected. "Spot Conlan is the leader of Brooklyn. Spot Conlan is feared. Spot Conlan is the hottest of all the newsies."

"Really," Blaine said, amused.

"Oh, yes," Kurt said. "I think that was the first time I truly started realizing my sexuality. I mean, when you're eleven and Spot Conlan comes on screen…it does things to you."

"Is that so?" Blaine drawled, smiling wickedly as he slipped his arms around Kurt's waist and drew him closer. "You know, Newsies would be an even more awesome movie if Racetrack and Spot had the hots for each other."

"Or any of the newsies, actually," Kurt said breathlessly, his nose inches from Blaine's.

"Now I'm pretty excited to see you in this outfit," Blaine said. He leaned in to kiss Kurt's cheek and trailed his lips down, leaving soft kisses on the side of his neck. Kurt shivered.

"YOU GUYS. REALLY. WE'RE RIGHT HERE."

Kurt hopped backwards, blushing furiously. Blaine turned around and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," he said.

The other New Directions guys were lined up in front of the dressing rooms, their arms laden down with various costume pieces that Kurt had ordered them to try on. "Yeah, get it, Kurt," Artie smirked.

"You guys going to have dressing room sex?" Puck said. "'Cause that's hot."

Finn covered his eyes. "Aw, god, now I'm imagining my little brother having noisy dressing room sex," he complained. "Oh, god, is it gonna be like the Sims? Will fireworks start shooting out?"

"I don't know, but I'm prepared to gather around and clap," Mike grinned.

"We are not going to have dressing room sex!" Kurt sputtered, his face blotching red. "Or…or…our sex life is none of your business, thank very much!"

"Ah, but you do have a sex life," Sam smirked.

"Tap that ass, Blaine," Artie said.

Kurt's face had bypassed red and had gone straight for a mottled purple and maroon. "Oh, now he's embarrassed," Blaine said, pulling him into a hug. He looked over Kurt's shoulder at the rest of the guys. _Our sex life is fantastic_, he mouthed.

Finn's eyes nearly bugged out of his face, but the other guys all flashed him enthusiastic thumbs-up.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Everything is better with Newsies.

And Spot is _definitely_ the most awesome newsie of them all!


	61. Kilt Kilt Kilt

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"So my mom took my tux out of storage to get it all spiffed up before prom," Blaine said, taking the glass Finn offered. He frowned. "Warm milk? Really?"<p>

"Oh, yeah, Kurt taught me how to make it," Finn beamed, plunking down between his brother and his brother's boyfriend.

Kurt rolled his eyes and nibbled the edge of his oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. "It's not rocket science, Finn," he said. "Microwave milk. Pour in glass. The end."

Finn nudged him. "C'mon, it's an accomplishment for me," he said.

Kurt chased his bite of cookie with a sip of milk and propped his legs up on Finn's lap. "So, Blaine, you were saying about the tux?" he said.

"Oh, yeah, my mom took it to get cleaned," Blaine smiled, reaching over to rub Kurt's ankle affectionately. "We're still doing pink as the accent color, right?"

"Uh-huh," Kurt said. "I'm thinking pink roses for our bouts. Very classic."

"And I'm picking you up in my dad's Vette," Blaine grinned. "See, who needs heteronormative relationships? We just share everything equally."

Finn made a face. "Crap. I have to get Quinn one of those wrist bush things, don't I?" he said. "Can I go with you when you get your button things?"

"They're called boutonnieres, Finn, and I think I'd better take you," Kurt sighed. "Otherwise you'll get her marigolds from Kroger, and that would just be a disgrace."

"Can I go with you when you get your tux too?" Finn asked eagerly.

Kurt shoved a cookie in his mouth and mumbled a reply.

"Sorry, didn't catch that."

"…'mnotwearingatux."

Blaine tilted his head to the side. "Then what are you wearing?" he inquired. "You are wearing something, right?"

Kurt's already pink cheeks turned redder. He swallowed hard. "I was thinking I might…" He ducked his head and mumbled something into his glass of warm milk.

"You're going to marry a quilt?" Finn repeated.

"I was thinking I might wear a kilt!" Kurt rushed out, his face a brilliant beet red. "I mean, I don't know, I've worn them before, but this is the prom, I just don't know, I've never been to a prom before, it might be too much-"

"Try it on," Blaine suggested.

Kurt choked. "Come again?"

"You should try it on," Blaine said. He tickled his fingertips lightly against Kurt's ankle. "Let us tell you what we think. We won't steer you wrong."

"Well, I might, but Blaine won't," Finn corrected.

Kurt handed his cookie to Blaine and his milk to Finn. "I'll be right back," he beamed. "It might take a little time, though. Do you know how hard it is to get in and out of a kilt?"

"Hope it's not too hard," Blaine smirked. Kurt squeaked and darted up the stairs.

Finn took Kurt's cookie out of Blaine's hand. "Did Kurt bake these or did you?" he inquired, taking a large bite.

"Are you kidding me? Kurt did," Blaine said. "He doesn't allow me near the mixer."

"Dude, me neither!" Finn said. "Not since I got my hand stuck in it once."

Blaine lifted an eyebrow. "How'd you manage that?" he asked warily.

Finn thrust his hand in Blaine's face. "See that scar on my finger?" he said. "My mom was making Christmas cookies and I reached in to take some of the dough out, right, but I forgot to turn the mixer off first and it just sort of sucked my hand in and it got totally stuck."

"Well, now I can understand why Kurt doesn't let you near the kitchen," Blaine said. "He just makes me hand him things. The appliances are too sacred for me to touch them."

"That mixer is like his baby," Finn said solemnly.

Their conversation of kitchen accidents and Kurt's possessiveness was interrupted by a shy call from upstairs. "So…I'm ready….I think."

"Come on, babe," Blaine called back.

"Yeah, dude," Finn said. "My body is ready."

Kurt's footsteps were surprisingly light on the stairs as he approached them cautiously, despite his heavy knee-high boots. "Well?" he ventured, gesturing to his outfit. "What do you think?"

"Awesome," Finn declared.

Kurt's whole face lit up. "Really?" he said. "Because I thought about going the classic route, you know, with the tux and everything, but this just seemed more…more me, and I-"

"Dude, that rocks," Finn said, gesturing with his glass of milk. "It's like gay Braveheart."

Kurt brightened and broke into a happy little twirl, the kilt flaring around him and showing off everything underneath- which so happened to be a pair of leggings, or at least pants so tight they could pretend to be leggings on the weekends. "Really?" he said again.

"As long as you wear those pants under there," Finn said. "Cause dude, if you twirl like that prom…everybody's going to see your boy business, and that's just not cool."

"Oh, don't worry, I have no intention of going classic Scottish. I don't think Dad would let me out of the house like that," Kurt said. He twisted his fingers together. "Blaine? What do you think?"

Blaine had been staring in stunned silence ever since Kurt had first walked down the stairs. "You have…so much leg," he stammered. "Just…just…legs, everywhere."

"Do you think I should wear it to prom?" Kurt ventured, sidling a little closer.

Blaine stared at Kurt's knees and nodded.

"Really?" Kurt said. "You like it?"

Blaine cleared his throat. "I might like it even better if…if you…um…maybe…took off the jacket…maybe unbuttoned the top button or two…" he mumbled.

"Aaaaaand I'm out of here," Finn said, handing his milk and cookie to Blaine. "Kurt, I like the kilt thing. Blaine, you have got to stop with this weird shoulder thing. It's creepy, and also, I hate to break it to you, but shoulders are not included in first base. You're barely swinging the bat at the ball." He stood up and patted the top of Blaine's head. "Good luck."

Kurt waited for Finn to leave, then licked his lips and slid his jacket off his shoulders. "Wanna step up to the plate?" he said suggestively.

"Yes, please," Blaine said eagerly, scooting to the edge of the couch and setting his milk aside.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

This was written when the promo for Prom Queen aired, and I was all like "I can't help it! Klaine! Furt! Kilt! Warm milk! This must be written!" So it's not canon-compliant, but it's pretty dang adorable, right?

Also, I must shamefully admit that I once got my hand stuck in a mixer.


	62. Dad

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Finn fidgeted awkwardly, jiggling his leg under the dinner table. "That was a wonderful dinner, Kurt," Carole said, patting him on the shoulder as she cleared the table.<p>

"Thank you," he said. "And thanks for getting out the good china."

"It's just Father's Day, Kurt, you don't have to go all out," Burt said, his grin belying his words.

"Oh, come on, Dad, I've always gone all out," Kurt said. He brushed his hair back. "Besides, Carole only gets so many opportunities to use her wedding china."

"He's right," Carole called from the kitchen.

Kurt clapped his hands. "So, Dad," he said. "What do you want first? Dessert, or presents?"

"Too soon for dessert," Burt said. "Presents, I guess."

Finn swallowed audibly. Carole frowned as she passed him on her way back to her seat. "Finn, honey, are you feeling all right?" she asked.

"I'm fine," he mumbled.

Kurt pulled a beautifully wrapped box and a card out from under his chair. "These are for you, Dad," he said cheerfully, leaning out of his seat to kiss Burt on the cheek. "They're mostly from me, but Blaine found out what I was getting you and insisted on chipping in."

Burt glanced up from unwrapping his gift. "No kidding," he said. Kurt nodded. "He's a good kid, Kurt. I like him."

Kurt turned bright red in happiness. Finn scratched the back of his neck as Burt pulled the wrapping paper off his present and opened the box. "Kurt, this is too much," he said. "How the hell'd you afford this?"

"Sadly, I grew a little too tall for several very nice pairs of designer trousers, so I sold them on Ebay- for a tidy profit, I might add- and…I got you that," Kurt said.

Burt held up the silver watch to the light. "Oh, honey, that's beautiful," Carole said, squeezing Burt's arm. "It's perfect."

"Thanks, scooter," Burt said, rubbing Kurt's shoulder affectionately.

Carole smiled at Finn. "Honey, did you get a present for Burt?" she asked.

"Oh, Carole, it's fine," Burt said, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm just his stepdad. You didn't have to get me anything, Finn."

"Oh, but I…I did," Finn said. "Sort of. I kind of…well, it's sort of a present."

Kurt frowned. "You didn't ask me to go shopping with you," he said. "Oh, no. Does it involve plaid?"

"No, I just…" Finn swallowed hard. "It's sort of a present. Kind of. Not really, but…"

"Well, why don't you go get it?" Carole said. Finn took a deep breath.

"Dad."

The table fell silent. "What?" Kurt finally said.

Finn shrugged awkwardly. "I thought…that maybe…I could start calling you Dad now," he said.

The other members of his family stared at him. "Oh, honey," Carole whispered.

"That's a great present," Burt said. "That's…yeah, Finn. It'd be great if you started calling me Dad."

Finn grinned, the weight on his shoulders finally lifting. Kurt rubbed his eyes. "Oh, god, Finn, you're going to make me cry," he said.

"I think Mom's already crying," Finn said.

"Oh, stop it," Carole sighed, dabbing her napkin at her eyes.

Finn surveyed his family- his teary-eyed mother, his laughing brother, his proudly beaming father- and for this first time he could remember, it felt like everything was perfect.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

EVERYTHING IS HAPPY HUDMEL FAMILY AND NOTHING HURTS.


	63. Scary Movies

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine had to admit he was a little disappointed. Ever since Finn had told him about Kurt's little problem with scary movies, he had been planning an evening like this- the house to themselves on a rainy night, the two of them curled up on the couch under a blanket while they watched a scary movie. Kurt would freak out, he would hold out his arms, and the evening would end in cuddles that would doubtless turn into something decidedly undapper.<p>

However, he had forgotten to factor in Kurt's ability to sleep through an earthquake.

Blaine rested his chin in his hands and sighed. Kurt had draped himself over the arm of the couch and slept heavily, his cheek pillowed on his arm. The heroine onscreen shrieked, and Kurt slept right through it.

"At least he's cute," Blaine sighed, tucking the blanket around his snoozing boyfriend. He leaned back against the couch, stretched out his legs, and closed his eyes.

The next thing he knew, something warm was nuzzling against his side. Blaine cracked one eye open. "Kurt?" he said sleepily.

Somehow his long-legged boyfriend had managed to wedge himself between Blaine's side and the back of the couch, his face buried deeply into the cushions. "Oh, god, Blaine, turn it off, please," Kurt whined.

_Aha! I got him! _Blaine thought gleefully. All he said aloud was "you don't want to watch the movie anymore?"

"Oh, god, please, I hate scary movies," Kurt whimpered. "I'm going to have nightmares."

Blaine petted Kurt's hair. "Aw, poor baby," he cooed. He tugged Kurt up against his chest; Kurt immediately pulled the blanket over his head. "But I thought you liked scary movies."

Kurt thumped him on the arm. "Stop it, you lying liar who lies," he said. "I know Finn told you that I hate scary movies. So shut up and turn it off so I can come out of hiding and beat you up."

Blaine glanced over at the TV and grinned. "Kurt, it's just the DVD menu," he said.

"Yes, but it's _scary, _Anderson, and I don't like it," Kurt protested. "Oh god, make it stop."

He burrowed deeper under the blankets, his hands tightening on the front of Blaine's shirt. "Ooh, it's a big scary DVD menu," Blaine grinned as he rubbed Kurt's back. "I can't believe it. You slept through the entirety of The Ring, and the menu is making you pee your pants."

"Turn it off! Turn it off!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

This is based on true life events. DON'T MOCK ME, THE DVD MENU FOR THE RING IS REALLY REALLY SCARY, YOU GUYS.


	64. Potcakes

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Come on, Kurt, buy a cupcake," Quinn wheedled, waving the frosted baked good back and forth. "They're delicious."<p>

He bit his lip. "There's so many calories, though," he said, gazing longingly at the gooey treat. "And unlike you, I can't use the excuse that I'm eating for two."

"Like that's ever stopped her before," Santana snickered.

Puck shot her a sharp glare, then turned to Kurt. "Listen, dude," he said. "I'll cut you a deal. Seventy-five cents for a cupcake. And you'd better decide quick, they're going fast."

Kurt studied the cupcake. "Don't call me dude," he said at last, handing over three quarters and taking the cupcake from Quinn's hand.

He peeled the wrapper and took a tentative bite. His eyes widened. "It's good, isn't it?" Quinn beamed. "Oh my god, I want another one. Puck, hand me one."

"No, no, I think you've had enough," Puck said quickly. Quinn scowled.

Kurt devoured the cupcake. "These are amazing," he said. "Puck, I didn't know you could bake. We should have a recipe exchange sometime."

"Uh…" Puck stammered. "Yeah, sure."

"What's your secret?" Kurt said.

Puck opened his mouth. "I don't know, it's his grandma's recipe," Santana shrugged.

"Jewish secrets," Puck said. "We can't tell anyone who isn't Jewish."

Kurt rolled the wrapper up and tossed it away before licking the rest of the red frosting off his fingers. "That was amazing," he said. "Oh my god. If I didn't have to go to class, I would totally get another one."

"Yeah, you might want to…space them out," Puck said. "See you in glee, dude."

"Okay," Kurt said dreamily. He headed out of the cafeteria and walked towards his history class, but his mind kept wandering back to those delicious, creamy cupcakes. His head kept buzzing pleasantly, and everything seemed brighter than usual. _Ooh. I should eat sugar more often is this is what it feels like_, he thought.

So he bought another one during his study hall.

And another during lunch.

And when it was his turn to work at the bake sale table, he ate two.

By the time glee rolled around, the cupcakes that had tasted so amazing an hour or two ago felt like lead in his stomach. He lurched down the hall to the choir room, frowning at his feet. "Why won't you work properly?" he mumbled.

Mercedes waved at him. "Hey, baby," she said. "Come sit next to me."

He wobbled over to her and sank into the plastic chair, his head still spinning. "I feel funny," he mumbled.

"You look funny," she said. "What's wrong? Are you running a fever?"

He stretched out his legs and stared at his shoes. "Why can't I walk right?" he wondered aloud.

Mercedes raised an eyebrow and touched his forehead. "You don't feel warm," she said. "Does your stomach hurt?"

"Mm…sort of…" he said dreamily. "And my mouth…is dry. It's like…the Suburbia. No…the Sahara. Is that the desert? The big one?"

"Okay, what the hell are you on?" Mercedes asked. "Oh my god, are you drunk again?"

"No…I don't believe I'm drunk," he said. "I don't…well, I don't remember drinking anything…"

Puck strolled into the room. "'Sup, Aretha. Bambi." He paused. "God, Hummel, what's wrong with you?"

"He's drunk, or high, or something," Mercedes said, throwing her hands in the air.

Puck blanched. He knelt in front of Kurt. "Hummel? Hey, dude, look at me." Kurt obeyed dizzily. "Kurt, how many cupcakes did you eat?"

Kurt held up five fingers. Puck swore under his breath. "What the hell did you put in those bake sale cupcakes, Puckerman?" Mercedes demanded.

"Nothing," he said defensively. "Just…a little pot."

Mercedes' jaw dropped. "What….oh…oh, _hell, _Puckerman, you got Kurt high!" she shrieked. "You…you gave everybody in the school _marijuana!_"

"Just a little!" Puck said. "It's not so bad if you just eat one or two. Hummel ate _five_!"

Kurt held up his hand. "Do you mind not shouting?" he asked faintly. "It makes my head hurt…and I cannot hear the ponies."

"Ponies?" Mercedes repeated.

Kurt leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands. "I think…I see ponies…but…I am fairly certain…they are not really there…" he said. "Can…can you make the ponies be quiet, please?"

"He's hallucinating," Puck sighed.

"What are we going to do with him?" Mercedes shrieked.

Kurt rubbed his temples. "The pink one…she won't shut up…" he mumbled.

Puck scooped Kurt up. "I'll tell the nurse he's got a headache and he can sleep it off or something," he said. "We'll get him after glee's over and you can drive him home."

"Someone make the pink pony shut up," Kurt said. "God, shut up, you stupid pink pony!"

Mercedes shook his head. "I hope this teaches you a lesson, Puck," she said sternly.

Puck shifted Kurt in his arms. "Yeah. Don't give Hummel pot. He's a total lightweight."

"GOD, SHUT UP, PINKIE PIE."

Mercedes just rolled her eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

EVERYTHING IS BETTER WITH MY LITTLE PONY REFERENCES!

Also, can I just say that it bothers me that Puck didn't tell Quinn- _pregnant _Quinn- that she was ingesting pot? I feel like that is something she should have known about...


	65. Are You Hitting On My Man?

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>The barista was flirting with Kurt.<p>

_Flirting._

Blaine crossed his arms, fuming inwardly. First the barista commented on Kurt's excellent taste in his coffee order, then he had purposefully (_purposefully_) trailed his fingertips along Kurt's as he took his debit card, then complimented him on his vest. Now the two of them were chatting amiably about current styles and bemoaning the lack of higher-end stores in their area of Ohio while Blaine stood by and watched.

He knew Kurt wasn't encouraging it. In fact, he was fairly certain that Kurt didn't even realize that the good-looking barista was flirting with him. Kurt chatted happily like he would have with any of his friends, pleasant and engaging and genuinely interested.

The barista, on the other hand, had his eyes locked on Kurt's. Most of the time. Sometimes his gaze wandered down, to Kurt's slender bare neck and the way his thin tee shirt clung to his pale toned arms. _Thank God for the counter, _Blaine thought, _or that guy would be ogling…_

The barista licked his lips. _Licked his lips. _Like Kurt made his mouth water or something. Like Kurt was just something delicious for him to admire and devour.

_He's looked at him for like five minutes, _Blaine fumed. _He doesn't know anything about him._

That stupid barista didn't know that Kurt could sing like an angel and spoke French like a Paris native and ran like a duck.

He didn't know that Kurt always slept on his stomach and twisted his fingers together when he was nervous and sometimes laughed so hard he started wheezing.

He didn't know that Kurt loved strawberries and hated country music and was terrified of spiders.

He didn't know how Kurt liked to be kissed.

Blaine did. He knew all those things. And in that moment, he had never loved Kurt more and hated that barista less.

He stepped up and slid an arm around Kurt's waist, pulling him close until he could capture his lips in a soft, warm, lazy kiss. Startled, Kurt tensed for a moment, then relaxed, sighing into the kiss as his hands rested against Blaine's chest.

Blaine pulled back gently, his heart thumping at the softness in Kurt's eyes as he gazed at him through his lashes, and smiled broadly at the barista, fully aware of the sudden redness of his lips. "Hi, there," he said to the shocked barista, his arm still tight around Kurt's waist. "I'd like a grande vanilla bean frap, extra espresso and extra whip, please." He kissed Kurt on the cheek. "And could I get two of those cake pops too, please? _My boyfriend _loves them."

The barista blinked, then turned back to the register. "Yeah, sure," he mumbled. "That'll be $10.75."

Blaine handed over a ten and a five. "Keep the change," he said gallantly before walking over to the side to wait for their drinks.

"Well, you're in a dapper mood all of a sudden," Kurt teased. "And very PDA-y. What's the occasion?"

"Oh, nothing," Blaine smiled. "I just love you."

Kurt smiled, his dimple showing in his cheek. "Well, I love you too," he said, leaning in to kiss Blaine on the lips.

"Oh, and the barista was flirting with you."

Kurt's jaw dropped. "He wasn't," he said.

"Oh yes, he was," Blaine said. "He was eying you like a piece of meat."

Kurt looked wildly from Blaine to the barista and back to Blaine. "Oh god," he choked. "I didn't…I didn't even know." He covered his mouth with his hands. "I'm such a terrible flirt. I don't even know when people are flirting with me. Oh god. I promise, I wasn't-"

"I know," Blaine said, giving him a squeeze. "And I'm a worse flirt than you. I flirted with you before I realized what I was doing."

Kurt relaxed and smiled. "It was your subconscious," he teased, leaning in on his tiptoes. "You knew that someday you'd fall hopelessly, madly in love with me."

"Sounds about right," Blaine grinned.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

PRECIOUS PRECIOUS BOYS.

I just love them. It's impossible not to love them. They're just...alsdkfjlsdkjfl.

Also. They are singing "Fucking Perfect." LSJDFLKDJSLKFJLKSD. .

I have no words. My joy knows no bounds.

I just hope there's plenty of Kurt getting snuggled. That poor boy needs to be snuggled as much as possible. I mean, he's strong and independent and everything but...he doesn't have a mom. HE NEEDS SOMEONE TO SNUGGLE HIM. BLAINE NEEDS TO LOVE ON HIM. LIKE, ALL THE TIME.

ALL THE TIME.


	66. Babbie

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Jack picked his three-year-old daughter up and set her on her mother's bed. "Be very careful, Frances," he warned.<p>

Francey scooted closer on her hands and knees. " Hi, Mommy," she said cheerfully.

Anna smiled at her, exhausted and angelic. "Hi, precious baby," she said, cupping Francey's chin in her hands. "Come meet your baby brother." She tugged back the soft blue blanket so Francey could see the newborn better. "This is your brother, honey lamb. This is Zachary."

"Zachary Blaine Anderson," Jack said with a proud smile. "Look at him. He's perfect."

Francey frowned and looked up at her father. "Fend him buck," she ordered. "I do not like dis babbie."

"We can't send the baby back, sweetie love," Anna laughed. "Zachary is ours to keep."

Francey shook her head, her dark curls bouncing. "Nah-uh," she said. "Don't want dat babbie." She stuck out her tongue at the drowsy baby in her mother's arms.

"Frances Meghan, that's not how ladies behave," Jack scolded. "Why don't you want the baby, pet?"

"_I _am the babbie!" Francey said. She pointed to herself. "Me! I'm the babbie!"

"You'll always be our baby, but now we have Zachary too," Anna said. She smoothed Francey's curls away from her face. "Now tell Zachary you love him. That's what good big sisters do."

Francey sighed. "Hi, Fuckery," she said reluctantly.

Anna started. "Oh my lord, what did you just say?" she said.

"I think…I think she just tried to say 'Zachary'," Jack said. "I told you we need to put her in speech therapy."

"Francey, sweet girl, the baby's name is Zachary," Anna said. "Can you say that? Can you say 'Zachary'?"

Francey blinked. "Fuckery," she said again, slow and deliberate.

Jack sighed. "Francey, how about you call him Blaine instead?" he said. "Until you learn to talk properly."

Francey huffed, obviously frustrated by her parents' everchanging demands, and leaned over the baby. "Hi, Beeyaine," she said.

The baby opened his eyes and blinked at her, then waved a tiny fist towards her face, patting her cheek lightly. Francey straightened and looked at her mother. "Mine," she announced. "Mine babbie."

"Oh, so now he's gone from 'that baby' to 'your baby'?" Jack smiled.

Francey scooted even closer, petting the bundle of blankets and kissing the top of the baby's head with a loud smack. Baby Blaine babbled happily and waved his little fists at her. "Mine," she said cheerfully. "My babbie. Gimme."

"You're going to have to give him back," Anna reminded her as she carefully placed the baby in Francey's arms, keeping her hands under the precious little one to steady him. "Mama and Daddy need time with Blaine too."

"Mine," Francey insisted. The baby wriggled in her small arms and Francey frowned. "Don't cry, Beeyaine. I'm gonna pinch you if you cry."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Precious cuddly Anderson babies!

So now you know the story behind Blaine's name. And nickname.

And also, Francey is the best big sister ever.

If someone ever drew little!Francey meeting baby!Blaine, I would probably pee myself.


	67. Glee Club Saved My Kid's Life

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt cracked the door and peeked inside. Light from the hallway filtered over his shoulder, casting warm shadows into the bedroom.<p>

His son was fast asleep under the covers, his slender shoulders rising and falling in slow, rhythmic breaths. He could see Kurt's soft hair ruffled across the pillow like it never was in the daytime, and for a moment all he longed to do was smooth back into place, as if by fixing his hair he could fixing anything and everything.

It had happened again. Kurt came home coated in slushie, his hair and face and clothing coated in the thick cracked veneer of synthetic blue raspberry syrup. He had walked into the house after school and dropped his bag on the floor in a huff, and for a second Burt's heart had skipped a beat. For a second he thought it was going to be a replay of Kurt's third day of freshman year, when he staggered into the kitchen and started sobbing like a child, tears making clean tracks in the trails of slushie on his cheeks.

But Kurt didn't cry. He had laughed, tugging ruefully at his ruined clothes and wrinkling his blue-stained nose. Burt had stared, startled, as Kurt gave him a lighthearted play-by-play, about how his friend Puck spooked off the jocks and his friend Mercedes helped him scrub off the worst of it and his friend Tina let him borrow a clean shirt.

_Friends. _Such a novel concept.

And then Kurt had chatted all through dinner about sectionals coming up, his very first competition, and how they were working on all of these amazing songs and fantastic choreography and he was just so excited.

Burt had just stared at him, wondering when the hell his kid got so bubbly.

Now Kurt was fast asleep in his own bed, his breathing deep and easy, his lips parted. Burt padded a little closer, thankful for his son's tendency to sleep so deeply. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, his weight making the bed sink a little. Tentatively he reached out and placed a rough hand on his son's hair, still damp and curling a little at the ends after his long bedtime shower.

A year ago, he sent his baby off to high school, chubby cheeked and starry eyed and ready to take on a world that wasn't going to be kind to him. Freshman year was miserable for him, for both of them. Some days he worried that his kid wasn't gong to make it out alive, especially in those scary early moments after Kurt came out to him, terrified and trembling, and Burt found himself scrolling through the internet in horror, reading story after heartbreaking story of kids who were different ending up addicts, homeless, _dead._

He never thought he'd ever be grateful to a damn show choir, but he was. Being in glee gave Kurt something to look forward to, something to work for, something that made him feel like somebody for once in his life. And maybe someday his kid could get his skinny ass out of their two-bit cow town and catapult into some place where he would not only matter, but everyone would know he mattered.

But for now, he could spend an hour or two a day singing his heart out, hanging out with kids who didn't shove him in lockers and call him names. And that, for now, was enough.

Burt bent over his sleeping son and kissed his still babyishly-round cheek, dreading the day when Kurt's growth spurt would finally hit and the last traces of childhood would be gone. Kurt sighed in his sleep and buried his face deeper into his pillow. Burt tucked him back into bed and snuck out of the room, his heart heavy despite himself.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

So Burt Hummel. Flawless. The end.

When he said that "glee club saved my kid's life" it nearly killed me. alsdfjldksjflk. My eternal Hummel creys.

AND NOW LET'S HOPE THERE'S MORE HUDMEL AWESOMENESS COMING UP THIS SEASON. THIS SCENE WAS NOT ENOUGH. I WANT CUDDLES AND NICKNAMES AND FRIDAY NIGHT DINNERS.

And also for Carole to get pregnant.


	68. The Raccoon Cometh

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe you beat me," Finn mumbled. "I'm an <em>awesome<em> bowler."

"Beginner's luck?" Quinn suggested. She patted his arm. "Maybe next time you'll beat me."

He sighed as he hit the turn signal and turned onto his street. "I just don't understand why you had to beat me," he grumbled. "And I was-"

Quinn grabbed his arm. "Oh my god, what is that?" she demanded.

"You almost made me hit another mailbox!" he protested. "What, Quinn?"

"There's somebody creeping on your house!" Quinn whispered shrilly, pointing to his garage door. "Oh my god, are you being robbed?"

"I don't know," Finn said, screeching the truck to a halt two houses down and throwing the gearshift in park. "Stay here. I'll check it out."

"Signal me if I need to call 911," Quinn ordered, sliding down in her seat so only the top of her golden head was visible over the dash.

Finn slid out of the truck and jogged towards his house, ducking behind trees, mailboxes, and garbage cans as he went. _It's all good, Finn, _he told himself. _You've played video games all your life. You can handle this._

He hid behind a parked car in his neighbor's driveway and peeked over the hood. In the glare of the floodlights over the garage he could see a thin figure skulking around the house, wielding a baseball bat. _Okay. Okay. He's probably trying to find a basement window to shatter so he can climb in, _Finn thought. _Mom was wrong. Those CSI reruns _are _good for my brain._

He drummed his fingers on the hood as he tried to put together a plan. But before he could cobble something together, he heard the burglar mumbling to himself.

"Stupid furry beast. I'm going to skin it. I'm going to catch it, and strangle it, and turn it into a hat. A big, fluffy hat. Who cares if stripes aren't in season. I don't care. Stupid, stupid, stupid-"

Finn popped out from behind the car. "Kurt?" he called skeptically.

The intruder jumped about ten feet in the air, shrieking and brandishing a baseball bat. "Oh my god!" Kurt screeched.

Quinn popped out of the truck. "I'll call!" she yelled, waving her phone. "Do you need me to call the police?"

"No, no, it's just Kurt," Finn called, jogging over to his driveway. "Kurt, what the hell are you doing out here? With a baseball bat? At midnight?" He frowned. "You've got all your face goop on."

"It's a _masque, _Finn," Kurt snapped. Sure enough, his face was splotched with pale green ooze, his hair was held back with a purple sweatband, and he wasn't wearing his normal clothes or even his one of his nice matching satin pajamas sets. Instead, he was dressed in blue Soffe shorts, a red Dalton Lacrosse sweatshirt cut off at the shoulders, and no shoes. "Stop staring at me!"

Finn stared. "What…what the hell is going on?" he stammered.

"Really, Finn, I can call the police!" Quinn hollered.

Finn flapped his hand at her as Kurt took a deep breath. "I decided that since I had the house to myself, I'd have kind of a spa night," he said. "You know…bubble bath, manicure, that sort of thing. And then I heard something in the garage, and I freaked out, because I thought it might be a burglar or something, so I went in your room and got your baseball bat- nice job hiding your report card in your closet, by the way, I'm sure Mom won't even _think _to look in there-"

"Yeah, yeah, just go on," Finn said quickly.

"-so I went in the garage to see if I could figure out what was going on, and…and…there was a raccoon!" Kurt burst out.

Finn raised an eyebrow. "A raccoon?" he repeated.

"A huge one!" Kurt said, gesturing broadly as he waved the baseball bat around. "It charged at me! It was out for blood! I slammed the house door shut so it wouldn't get in, and then I opened the garage door to try to chase it out, and then it chased _me _out, and I think I accidentally triggered the sensors and it _closed. _It closed, Finn, and I've been out here, locked out of the house, dressed _incredibly _indecently and I don't have shoes and it's kind of cold out here and my masque is _burning _my face and…and…Finn, just please kill it and let me go to bed! I'm so tired!"

If Kurt hadn't looked so miserable, Finn would have burst out laughing. Instead, he struggled valiantly to keep some semblance of a poker face, pried the baseball bat from Kurt's death grip, and squeezed his shoulder. "I've got this," he said. He dug in his pocket and pulled out his house keys. "Go inside and go to bed. Don't worry about it."

Kurt inhaled deeply. "Thank you," he said, snatching the keys out of his hand and running up the front steps to the house. He paused. "Oh, and Finn? Please don't tell anyone you saw me in this…ensemble."

"I like the booty shorts, Kurt," Quinn called from the pickup truck. "Does that say 'cutie' on your ass? What are you, a My Little Pony?"

Kurt blushed bright red. "They were a present from Brittany," he said primly. "And…and can this stay between the three of us? Please?"

With all the commotion, none of them had noticed the second Hudmel pickup pull into the driveway. "What the hell?" Burt said. He waved his hand in front of Kurt's face. "You sleepwalking again, kiddo?"

Kurt threw his hands up in the air and ran into the house. Carole looked from one son to the other. "Finn, honey? Why do you have a baseball bat?" she asked.

Finn shrugged. "I promised Kurt I'd kill his raccoon," he said.

"I don't understand either of my children," Burt mumbled under his breath.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

POOR KURT. HE'S SO EMBARRASSED.

Precious baby, in his little booty shorts

I hope Quinn conveniently forgets about it, for his sake.

Also, thank you for the sweet, sweet people who drew darling baby Francey and her Babbie! Especially pencilpushingenthusiast and theonlywhitemeat on Tumblr. Oh my goodness. So adorable. I died! I just died. You should visit their Tumblrs and tell them they're awesome.

(AND MAYBE IF WE'RE ALL VERY, VERY NICE SOMEONE WILL DRAW KURT IN BOOTY SHORTS. maybe?)

Well, back to writing two different books for NaNoWriMo. LOLZ I'M GOING TO DIE.


	69. At His Mother's Grave

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Lucy stayed quiet as Kurt drove, the stark bleakness of Ohio in November rolling past them. She had never seen Kurt so silent or so still. No music played and he didn't speak.<p>

She knew something was wrong when he had called her at six-thirty that morning, panicked and shaky, asking if she could do something with him. Once she had rubbed enough sleep out of her eyes to focus, she'd told him yes, but he had said nothing beyond "I'll pick you up in ten minutes."

Kurt took a right turn. She glanced at the clock. Seven-fifteen. Classes started at eight sharp, and she had a feeling they wouldn't be back on time.

"Kurt, you're being oddly cryptic," she said at last. "I can tell this is important, but really, we're going to miss our first classes."

Kurt's mouth tightened. "I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. "I just…I forgot, and…I didn't…I've never gone alone, and…"

"Gone where?" she asked.

Kurt pulled into the entrance of the cemetery. Instinctively Lucy reached over and squeezed his knee gently. She was starting to get an idea of what had Kurt so upset.

She said nothing as Kurt parked and got out of the car, picking up a bouquet of flowers from the backseat. Silently she walked beside him, hands deep in the pockets of her coat, the winter wind whipping at her uniform skirt.

Kurt headed further down the path without stopping to get his bearings, his knuckles white as he clutched the flower stems. She fell into step, matching him stride for stride as they walked through the brittle grass, heavy with frost.

He led her to a white headstone, the edges weathered, and swallowed hard. "Have I told you that my mother died?" he asked, his voice small.

Her heart skipped a beat. "I know your father remarried recently, but I didn't know if…" Her voice trailed off as she looked at the words engraved on the headstone. "Her name was Mollie?"

Kurt nodded. "Today's her birthday," he said, his voice still faint and strangled. "She…she would be thirty-four. And I…I forgot."

His face crumpled. Lucy slipped an arm around his waist. "It's okay," she whispered, rubbing his side. "It's okay. You've had a lot to deal with."

He took a deep breath and rubbed the side of his nose. "My dad and I always go together on her birthday," he said. "And their anniversary, and the day…the day she died, but…now I'm at Dalton and he's at home with Finn and Carole, and…it's not the same." He rubbed furiously at his eyes. "I go alone sometimes, you know, just to…to talk to her, when things are really bad, but…I didn't want to go alone today. And I couldn't…I couldn't ask Blaine." He tried to smile. "I'm sort of tired of always crying in front of him."

Lucy rubbed his back. "I'm glad you called me, honey," she said gently. She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Do you want to tell me about her?"

He paused, then nodded. They sat down together next to the headstone and he placed the flowers down reverently, trailing his fingertips longingly over the etched words of her name. Lucy steadfastly ignored the cold itchiness of the grass against her legs as Kurt began to speak, quiet and subdued.

She had the feeling that she was the first person who had ever asked to hear about his mother, and she had no intention of ruining that.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

All my Kurt creys.

Also, I love writing Kurt and Lucy. All the Lurty goodness.

Also also ALSO, both theonlywhitemeat and evilkitten42 on Tumblr did ADORABLE renditions of Kurt in his li'l bootyshorts trying to attack the raccoon. THEY ARE PRECIOUS WONDERFUL PEOPLE AND WE SHOULD ADORE THEM.

*off to reblog bootyshorts!Kurt*


	70. Sleepwalking

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>If he had had the space, Finn would have rolled over and huffed into his pillow, frustrated by his inability to sleep. But he had Sam on one side and Puck on the other, and sleep was turning out to be impossible.<p>

_Stupid Mr. Schue and stupid two hotel rooms, _he thought grumpily, glancing in envy at his peacefully sleeping teacher. Mr. Schue had moved the couch over the door that connected the girls' hotel room to the boys', saying that he need to make sure nothing inappropriate went down in the middle of the night.

_Inappropriate my ass, _Finn thought, staring up at the ceiling. _You were the one who left us unsupervised to go to your stupid Broadway show and then drink with that Vocal Adrenaline douche._

Beside him Puck let out a loud snort in his sleep. Finn rolled his eyes. He'd forgotten that Puck was kind of a blanket hog, so currently Puck was rolled up in all the covers, leaving Finn's calves covered and nothing for Sam. Sam curled up in a tighter ball, trying to keep himself warm, and scooted closer to Finn.

"Dude, Sam, I don't want to spoon with you," Finn whispered. Sam whined in his sleep and tucked his knees closer to his chest.

He glanced over at Artie and Mike, both peacefully asleep in their bed, and frowned. _I just want to sleep, _he thought. _Food. Food will make me sleepy._

Cautiously he slid his legs out from under the blankets and scooted across the mattress until his feet touched the floor. Neither of his bedmates woke, and he sighed in relief. He tugged some of the blankets away from Puck's death grip and draped them over Sam, who relaxed from his fetal position.

Finn rummaged in the pockets of the jeans he wore the day before and pulled out a few dollar bills. Carefully he crept across the carpet and cracked the door open as little as possible before slipping out, grabbing one of Puck's discarded shoes to prop the door open so he could get back in.

He strolled down the silent hallway towards the vending machine, the carpet plush but slightly scratchy against his bare feet. _I'll get a snack and go back to bed, _he thought. _And if Sam keeps kicking me, I'll just suck it up and sleep on the floor._

He had just rounded the corner when he saw a familiar figure wobbling down the hall towards him. Finn frowned. "Kurt?" he ventured. "What are you doing here?"

"I've never…hm…with the panda hat," Kurt mumbled.

Finn halted. "Holy crap," he said.

Kurt staggered down the hall, his eyes wide open and glazed over. He was barefoot, dressed in pinstripe pajama pants and a baggy V-neck tee that Finn vaguely remembered Blaine wearing once, and his bedhead had reached cartoonish heights. "Someone painted the dining room," he said clearly.

Finn took Kurt by the shoulders and waved his hand in front of his face. "Kurt? Buddy?" he said. "You okay?"

Kurt sighed and dropped his head against Finn's chest. "Hello, Mr. Wayne," he said dreamily. "Mm, I like your hockey pants."

Finn groaned. Not only was his brother sleepwalking in the middle of a fancy hotel in New York City, but apparently he was dreaming about a superhero redecorating their house. "Don't make me regret introducing you to the Batman movies," he threatened.

Kurt rubbed his cheek against Finn's chest. "I wanna…mm, I wanna…I'm gonna go do the laundry," he said.

"What the hell are you dreaming about?" Finn asked.

Kurt yawned, arms hanging limply at his sides. "Why's everything green?" he inquired.

Finn sighed. "Come here," he said, bending to scoop Kurt up. "Let's get you back to bed."

He'd encountered Kurt sleepwalking plenty of times. Burt had told him that Kurt had been a sleepwalker since he was a toddler, but it usually only happened when he was stressed or worried. The first time it happened was before the infamous Faggy Lamp Incident of 2010, when he woke up to find Kurt wandering around their basement bedroom in his oversized satin pajamas, trying to reorganize his sweater collection. At the time he'd just rolled over and gone back to sleep.

It wasn't until their parents got married and Kurt started school at Dalton that Finn really saw how bad it could get. Nearly every night he headed downstairs to sleep only to find Kurt walking around dazed and mumbling. Sometimes he found Kurt rummaging through the refrigerator, or even working on homework at his laptop. Usually he just guided him back to bed and that would be that- he'd wake up the next morning confused as to why his mouth tasted like pop tarts or why the misspelled lyrics to "Bad Romance" had appeared in the middle of his literature essay.

The worst was the first night in their new house, when he woke up to Kurt standing in his bedroom, crying because he was so lost and disoriented. That night he had carried Kurt back to bed and sat with him until he had settled down, his stomach tight because it was the first time he realized how worn-down his brother had gotten.

The sleepwalking calmed down after a while, but he hadn't even thought of Kurt doing it during Nationals. _Damn_, he thought, adjusting Kurt in his arms. _I should have remembered._

Kurt sagged in his arms, his cheek on his shoulder. "Blaine?" he called.

Finn glanced down at him. "Not Blaine," he said. "I swear, Kurt, if you try to kiss me in your sleep-"

Kurt buried his face in his shoulder. "Mm, Blaine, I love you," he sighed.

Finn paused. Kurt was smiling sleepily, looking more relaxed and peaceful than Finn had ever seen him look when he was awake. "I hope he loves you too, if he makes you this happy," he said.

Kurt made a happy noise, almost purring, and curled up close to Finn. Finn adjusted his grip to knock on the door to the girls' room.

It took a minute and a little bit of awkward knocking, but finally it swung open. "What the hell do you want?" Santana groused, looking decidedly schlumpy in her red tank top and lip-print pajama pants.

"I, uh….I found Kurt," Finn said. "He sleepwalks."

Kurt's head lolled on his shoulder and he smiled at Santana. "Mm…I had a…that's a boat," he said.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Bring him in and then get the hell out," she said, opening the door wider.

"Where was he sleeping?" Finn whispered.

"Hell if I know," she shrugged. "Just dump him somewhere. Not the couch, though, that's mine. I don't share."

Finn glanced at the bed where Mercedes, Rachel, and Tina were sprawled in a cuddle pile, the comforter turned sideways over them. Clearly no room for Kurt. He turned to the other bed, where Brittany and Quinn slept on opposite sides.

Finn set Kurt down carefully between the two girls. Immediately Kurt rolled onto his stomach and buried his face between the two pillows. Brittany shifted towards him, draping an arm sleepily across his back.

"Night, bud," Finn whispered. Kurt half-smiled, his eyes closed tightly. Finn leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "No more sleepwalking, okay? I don't want to have chase you down again."

"Night, Mr. Wayne," Kurt mumbled. "Tomorrow you have to teach me to drive the Batmobile, mmkay?"

"Sure, fine, just sleep," Finn said, patting Kurt on the back. "Batmobile tomorrow."

"Batmobile," Kurt echoed.

Brittany sort of smiled. "I wanna be Robin," she mumbled.

"Oh god, I forgot Brittany sleeptalks," Santana said. "Dammit. Now they're going to have conversations in their sleep again."

"Again?" Finn said, perplexed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I loved writing this. Super cute. Finn loves his brother and Kurt loves Blaine and they're all just so adorable.

And now I think Kurt and Brittany need to have a conversation in their sleep.


	71. Playing Hard to Get

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Jo closed her locker and hopped back in surprise. "Wesley Chang!" she shrieked. "What are you doing here?"<p>

Wes straightened his Dalton tie and clasped his hands. "As you know, the Dalton and St. Liliana spring dance is coming up next month," he said. "I would like to ask you to accompany me, if you are not otherwise engaged."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me to be your date to the dance?" she asked.

Wes faltered. "Yes," he said. "If…if you don't…you know have a date already."

She slipped her binders into her bag. "I don't," she said. "You can pick me up at five. And I'll be wearing purple."

He brightened. "So…so you'll go with me?" he said.

"I just said you can pick me up at five," she said. "I assume that means I'm your date."

Wes beamed broadly. "Well, then," he said. "I'm glad we can come to this agreement, Joanna."

"Me too," she smiled. She decided not to tell him about the butterflies flipping around in her stomach. Better to play hard to get.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I don't write much with Jo (Lucy is _so _much more fun) but someone requested it, so here it is!

And remember, if you want to request any drabbles, pop over to my Tumblr askbox (just type in redbullandcupcakebatter dot tumblr dot com) and leave 'em there! Or just come say hi.

Also, it was somehow decided last night that my fans (I have fans? Really? AWESOME.) want to be called The Cake Pops. So...I HOPE YOU ALL WANT TO BE CAKE POPS AND WE CAN BE BEST FRIENDS AND I'LL MAKE EVERYONE TEE SHIRTS. AND ALSO CAKE POPS.


	72. He Would Light Up Under the Attention

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine knocked on the glass door. "Come on in, door's unlocked," he heard Burt call.<p>

He stepped inside. "Hi, Mr. Hummel," he said.

Burt lounged in his recliner, the remote in hand. "You're here for Kurt?" he inquired.

"We, um, have a date," Blaine said.

"Oh, really?" Burt said. "Where're you taking him?"

Blaine edged a little closer. "We're going to the Chihuly exhibit at the art museum," he said. "It's all of these really cool blown-glass sculptures."

"You gonna have him back by his curfew?" Burt asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, of course, definitely," Blaine said, gripping his car keys in his hand.

"Then you kids have fun," Burt said. "He's taking a shower. Should be down any minute." He gestured towards the couch. "Go on, make yourself comfortable."

Blaine obeyed, sinking down on the plush couch. Burt took a sip of Diet Coke. "So how's your day been?" he asked.

Blaine looked up. "Me?" he said.

"Yeah, unless my kid's got another boyfriend sitting around here somewhere," Burt said, amused. "What've you been up too?"

"Um, well, I mowed the lawn today," Blaine said. He slid his fingers through his keyrings. "I thought about washing my car, but it looked like it was going to rain."

Burt nodded sagely. "You work on your car a lot?" he asked.

"Oh, you know, sometimes," Blaine said. "Mostly just maintenance. I leave all the big repairs to the professionals."

"You're smarter than some adults I have come in my garage," Burt said, gesturing with his Coke can. "I've seen some awful hack jobs. Once got a Grand Cherokee in such bad shape I could barely get it back up and running." He took a swig. "I got it to work, but geez, it took me forever." He took another sip of his Coke. "You like working on cars?"

"It's all right," Blaine said. "I can do it, but it's not really my thing."

Burt tilted his head. "So what is your kinda thing?" he asked.

So Blaine found himself telling Burt about how he'd always been fascinated by facts, that he liked reading everything that he could get his hands on, and that led to telling him about the Odyssey of the Mind competition that he won in elementary school, and that led to the story about how he was so painfully shy as a child that he used to hide under chairs to avoid talking to people, and it wasn't until his mother put him in voice lessons with his sister that he could get past it.

And Burt sat there in his recliner, nodding, urging him on to talk about himself for once. It was strange and slightly scary to bare his soul to his boyfriend's father, but at the same time it was…nice.

He was almost disappointed when Kurt sashayed down the stairs, dressed in linen shorts and a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, surrounded by the scent of cologne and shampoo. "Hi, Blaine," he said, bending to kiss him on the cheek. "Sorry I took so long. I couldn't decide on what to wear."

"What else is new?" Burt grinned. Kurt rolled his eyes as he paused to slide his feet into his shoes. "Blaine said you guys are going to the art museum."

"They're having a special presentation of Chihuly sculptures!" Kurt said. He scooped up his keys. "We'll be back before my curfew."

"I know," Burt said, standing up to hug Kurt. "Blaine promised."

Blaine grinned despite himself. "We'd better get going," Kurt said, tugging away from his dad and smoothing his hair down. "Blaine, come on, I'm driving."

"You two have fun," Burt said. Blaine started to follow Kurt, but Burt stopped him. "Be safe. Make good choices." He pulled Blaine into a firm hug. Blaine froze for a second, startled, then hugged him back.

"You're a good kid, Blaine," he heard Burt whisper in his ear before letting him go.

Blaine blinked, his mouth going a little slack. "Th-thanks, Mr. Hummel," he stammered.

Burt clapped him on the shoulder. "You can call me Burt, kiddo," he said. "Now go on, get. Have fun."

"Bye, Dad," Kurt said cheerfully, grabbing Blaine by the hand. Blaine squeezed his fingers tightly, suddenly unable to speak.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

My super-awesome friends Dax and Waltzy were having a meta discussion about Blaine, and one of them said something how Blaine would light up under Burt's attention.

And then this happened.

The end.

Precious, precious Blainers. He just wants a daddy to love him.


	73. Baby Kurt's Nightmares

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt jerked awake and bolted upright as the shrill, high-pitched scream echoed through the house. "Oh, god," he mumbled, running his hand over his face. "Not again."<p>

Mollie rolled onto her back. "Kurt had another nightmare," she murmured. "Go get him."

"But-"

The desperate wailing increased. Mollie prodded Burt in the side. "Go get him," she repeated. "He needs his mommy and daddy."

Burt sighed and slid out of the bed, scratching the back of his neck as he made his way down the hall to his son's bedroom. "Hey, Kurt," he said as he flipped on the overhead light. "'sokay. Daddy's here."

His two-year-old son was curled up in his little bed, his blankets pulled up to his chest as he wailed at the top of his lungs. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" Kurt bawled. He held out his arms to be picked up and opened and closed his tiny hands. "Bad dream, Daddy, bad dream!"

"Yeah, no kidding," Burt sighed, sinking down to the edge of the bed. "Think you can stop crying now, buddy?"

Kurt continued to sob as he lunged for the safety of his father's arms. Burt heaved a sigh and fumbled on the nightstand until he grabbed onto one of Kurt's pacifiers. "There," he said, popping it in Kurt's mouth. "There's your mute button."

Kurt instantly quieted, his noisy sobs reduced to loud sniffles and hitched deep breaths. Burt scooped him up, making sure to pick up his baby blanket too, and set him on his hip. "Wanna go see Mommy?" he asked.

Kurt nodded, latching onto Burt's shirt as he sucked industriously on his pacifier. Burt carried him down the hall to the master bedroom, where Mollie was sitting up, illuminated by the light from the bedside lamp. With her soft blue pajamas and her hair tumbling down her back she looked like an angel. "Give me my baby," she cooed, holding out her arms.

Kurt wriggled in Burt's grasp and he set him down on the bed; Kurt immediately made a beeline for his mother and hurtled into her arms, burying his face in her shoulder. "Oh, little honey. Did you have a bad dream?"

Burt sank back down on his side of the bed. Kurt nodded into his mother's neck, his little hands twining in her long curls. Mollie kissed his rosy cheek. "What did you have a bad dream about, precious boy?" she asked.

Kurt tugged the pacifier out of his mouth. "Bearth," he whispered. "Really big bearth."

Burt bit back a grin at Kurt's funny little lisp. "Oh, no, big bears?" Mollie said, rocking Kurt in her arms. "Did the big bad bears try to gobble up my little boy?"

Kurt nodded solemnly, popping the pacifier back in his mouth. Mollie smiled and smoothed down his unruly bedhead. "Well, if you sleep with Mommy and Daddy, the big bad bears can't get you," she said. "Do you want to sleep in our bed?"

Kurt nodded enthusiastically, sliding out of Mollie's arms and cuddling in the middle of the bed. Mollie tucked the blankets around him. "Go back to sleep, KK," she said softly. "Daddy and I are right here. We'll keep you safe."

Burt patted the toddler on the back as he snuggled on his tummy and Mollie began to hum a lullaby under her breath. He knew that he was going to spend the rest of the night fighting the blankets away from his wife and feeling Kurt's tiny cold feet pressed against his back, and they might end hogging the bed again so he'd have to go sleep on the couch…but somehow, he didn't quite mind.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

WHY DO I NOT HAVE A CHILD OF MY OWN YET MY ETERNAL CREYS I WANT A BABY.

I admit it. I am not ashamed.

All right, maybe a little. But seriously, I want a baaaaby...


	74. Sebastian the Slutpig

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>One second Sebastian was about to make the easiest lay-up imaginable and the next he was lying flat on his back, his eye smarting and a heavy weight sprawled over his legs. He stared up at the rafters of the Dalton gym, gasping for breath.<p>

"Holy crap!" the weight crushing his legs yelped.

"Get off me," Sebastian mumbled, kicking feebly.

Nick pulled Jeff to his feet as Thad helped Sebastian up. "Oh my god, are you two all right?" Nick asked. "That was a huge hit."

"I lost my balance!" Jeff said. His nose was trickling blood, but he seemed…strangely happy. Odd.

"You lost your balance as you _jumped _at him?" Thad said skeptically.

Sebastian probed gingerly at his cheekbone. "No permanent harm done, I think, but I think this is going to bruise," he said.

Jeff grabbed him by the wrist. "C'mon, let's go see the nurse," he said. "I think we'd better go see the nurse."

"Probably a good idea," Nick agreed.

Jeff led the way away from their PE class and down the hall to the nurse's office. Sebastian frowned at the floor, still poking at his rapidly-forming bruise. There was no way he was going to be able to convince anyone to go out with him with a giant purple splotch marring his face. Especially Blaine. Pure-hearted, bashful Blaine would probably just be too concerned over his injury to want to do anything.

Sebastian grinned to himself. Then again, he might be able to convince Blaine to play doctor…

"Mrs. P, it's me," Jeff sang happily as he pushed the door open.

Mrs. Peterson, the grandmotherly school nurse, frowned at him. "Jeffrey, what have you done now?" she scolded.

"Bloody nose," Jeff said cheerfully. "A basketball game went a bit awry." He pointed to Sebastian. "And I did that with my elbow!"

Mrs. Peterson sighed and tugged him away towards one of the three curtained-off partitions. "You come with me," she said. "Sebastian, dear, wait right there. I have a medical student who's shadowing me today, she'll see to your away."

Sebastian smiled at her. "Thank you, Mrs. Peterson," he said, sinking down on the edge of the cot. Hopefully the bruise would stay pretty dark. Blaine would freak out when he happened upon him at the Lima Bean that night. It would be absolutely amazing. And also hot.

The curtain drew back, and a girl with dark curls pinned in a ponytail smiled at him. "Hi, Sebastian," she said. "I'm Frances."

Sebastian shifted a little bit. Her voice was all oil and honey, but he didn't quite like the look of her sharp green-gold eyes. And was there something familiar about her face…

"Pleasure to meet you," he said, holding out his hand. "Sebastian Smythe."

Frances ignored his outstretched hand. "Let me take a look at that eye," she said, jabbing at it with her fingertip. "Oops. That hurt?"

"A little, but I'll be fine," Sebastian winced.

Frances grinned at him wolfishly. "Oh, by the time you leave, you won't be fine," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

Frances whipped the curtain partition shut and whirled around. "Listen here, dollface," she said, planting one hand on either side of the cot and leaning towards him. "From what I understand, you're kind of a man whore."

Sebastian squirmed. "I prefer the term 'free lover'," he said.

"God, you high school brats," Frances said, rolling her eyes. "You think you're so fucking sexy even though your balls only dropped a few years ago. Okay, listen. I've heard that you have the hots for a certain former Dalton Warbler by the name of Blaine fucking Anderson. Is this correct?"

"Well, yeah," Sebastian said. He leaned back and folded his arms, crossing one leg over the other. "We've got a connection, me and Blaine."

"Really," Frances drawled.

"He's got that whole shy, eager puppy, I-just-want-everybody-to-love-me vibe," Sebastian said. "I know what's up. Trust me, I've been with enough boys like him. I know exactly which buttons to push."

Frances' eyes narrowed. "What about his boyfriend?" she asked.

"Kyle?" Sebastian shrugged. "Oh, he's cute, but he's so painfully awkward. It won't take much to get Blaine out of his grabby little hands."

Frances leaned in closer. "You know what, Sebastian, let me tell you a little story," she said in a deceptively sweet voice. "Once upon a time there was a boy named Blaine who had an incredibly overprotective sister. And this overprotective sister found out that a little slutpig named Sebastian was trying to break up Blaine and his boyfriend and seduce him for his own nefarious purposes. So she conned her way into shadowing a school nurse, cornered the little slutpig, and told him she would turn his dick into a Slinky if she ever found out if he ever came anywhere near her brother and his precious boyfriend again. And do you know what the sister's name is?"

"Ashley?" Sebastian guessed weakly.

She leaned in till he was almost tipping over and her nose was a mere inch from his. "My name is Francey fucking Anderson, bitch," she said. "Stay away from my brother. Stay away from Kurt. Or I will make you regret it."

Sebastian choked. "Dick. Slinky. I'll remember," he said hastily.

Francey leaned back and smiled. "See that you do," she said. "Or I'll just have to make a return visit. My spies are everywhere."

Jeff poked his head through the curtains, still holding a bloody tissue to his nose. "Slut. Pig," he said, pointing at Sebastian.

"Shut up, Jeff, you're gonna blow your spy cover," Francey hissed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I just adore Jeff. He's a sweet doofus. But he ships Klaine so hard. It's adorable.

AND FRANCEY WOULD TOTALLY CUT SEBASTIAN'S BALLS OFF. I'M JUST SAYING.

I hope that canon!Blaine has a kickass older sister. It would be awesome.


	75. Tummyache

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt should have realized that the baby was up to something when the house got very, very quiet.<p>

Kurt was always making noise of some kind. He woke them up by singing until someone fetched him from his crib, he spent the day playing with a myriad of noisily musical toys spread across the living room floor, he took his naps to the sounds of Disney VHS tapes, he babbled nonstop to his mother in a language that only Mollie seemed to understand, and he sang himself to sleep when he was finally tucked into bed at night.

So yes, he should have realized that Kurt was up to something when the house went quiet.

Granted, he hadn't expected to be left alone with the baby for the afternoon. Mollie had been baking cookies for the elementary school's open house when she realized she didn't have quite enough ingredients.

"It'll only take me like fifteen minutes," she had said as she slipped on her shoes. "Kurt's taking a nap in the living room, but he'll be waking up soon. Just put some juice in his sippy cup when he wakes up, all right?"

"Uh, yeah, okay," Burt had said, barely looking up from his Popular Mechanics issue.

Mollie had paused in the doorway of their bedroom, rolled her eyes, and tugged the magazine down. "Take good care of my baby," she had warned him. "I'll be back soon. Now give me a kiss."

He had obliged and returned to his magazine, but the clock had just chimed three and Mollie should be back soon. And Kurt was supposed to be awake by now.

Burt tossed the magazine aside and headed down the hall. "Kurt?" he called warily.

Kurt's usual naptime fortress- thick yellow and blue quilt, soft white pillow, blue blankie, and teddy bear- was still spread across the living room floor and the television was playing static. Burt frowned and switched it off. His two-year-old son was nowhere in sight. "Kurt?" he called again. "Kiddo, come out here."

Something clattered in the kitchen. Burt frowned and followed the sound.

His jaw dropped. "How the hell'd you get up there?" he sputtered.

Little Kurt jumped in surprise, obviously shocked to be caught. Somehow he crawled up onto the kitchen counter and pulled the newly filled cookie jar on its side. But the cookie jar didn't look all that full anymore. In fact, judging by the amount of cookie crumbs and chocolate smears coating Kurt's round cheeks, chubby hands, and clothing, he guessed most of the contents had fallen prey to his greedy little son.

Kurt smiled sweetly at him, all round blue eyes and innocence. "Hi, Daddy," he said.

Burt picked up the cookie jar lid from the floor, tipped the jar back up, and set the lid on securely. "Don't you 'hi, Daddy' me," he said. "What've you been up to, Kurt Hummel?"

"Nuffin," Kurt said, blinking.

Burt sighed and folded his arms. "Your mom is gonna kill both of us," he said.

Kurt blinked again. "Um…Daddy?" he said. "My tummy hurth a little bit."

Burt pried the cookie from the toddler's hand and picked him up. "Yeah, no kidding," he said, brushing cookie crumbs off Kurt's hoodie. "You're gonna be sick as a dog tonight, aren't you, scooter?"

"Why is Kurt going to be…oh, what on earth!"

Burt turned around to see Mollie standing in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes wide in disbelief. "Burt Hummel!" she scolded. "What on earth! Why did you let him get into the cookies?"

"He's only two!" Burt protested. "I didn't think he could get up to them!"

"Mommy, my tummy hurth," Kurt said, stretching out his arms towards her.

Mollie sighed. "Come here, my little piggy," she said. She took him from Burt's arms, licked her thumb, and rubbed chocolate off the corner of Kurt's mouth. "Well, at least we can guarantee you'll never do this again. Right, KK?"

Kurt locked his arms around Mollie's neck and snuggled his soft little cheek against hers. "Love you, Mommy," he said sweetly.

"Oh, well, now you're just trying to sweet-talk your way out of this," Mollie grinned. "You're in trouble, little mister." She sighed and patted his back. "Well, at least your tummy ache will be punishment enough." She whipped around and glared at Burt. "You, sir, not so much."

Burt gulped.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

GUH. BABY KURT.

This was inspired by a Muchacha drawing. It was so cute, I just couldn't say no!

It's also nice to write something happy involving Burt and little Kurt. Right now I'm writing a super, super,_ super _angsty AU where Burt is an accidental foster parents who takes in a shy, terrified little Kurt. Turns out Kurt has been horribly abused. There's angst but also fluff, and little Blaine is in the story too. IT'S ADORABLY ANGSTY. ADORANGSTABLE. Don't mind me.

But if you have some spare time to read it (I've posted four chapters so far!) and review it, I would deeply appreciate it. I need a wee bit of encouragement...


	76. Pacifiers

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"We have to face it, Hummel," Mollie said solemnly. "The baby is too smart for us."<p>

Burt could only nod, overwhelmed. Operation: Get Kurt To Give Up His Pacifier was not going well. Not at all.

"The kid is three, Moll. _Three_," Burt kept saying. "He should've outgrown this years ago!"

Mollie would just roll her eyes, unwilling to admit that she had enabled their small son by sneaking him a pacifier when she couldn't get him to take a nap or he wouldn't stop crying or he didn't feel good. As a baby, Kurt had taken to his pacifier immediately, and when their newborn proved to have a powerful set of lungs Burt jokingly called it the mute button.

It was not quite so funny now that Kurt was three, incredibly verbal, decently mobile (he was terribly pigeon-toed and had a tendency to trip on his own feet), and was supposed to start preschool after his fourth birthday.

"We've tried everything," Mollie groaned as she stretched out on the living room floor, her head resting on Kurt's favorite stuffed teddy bear. "Throwing them away. Cutting the nipples off. Dipping them in hot sauce. Spanking him."

"Oh, come on, that attempt doesn't count and you know it," Burt grinned. "It wasn't even a real spanking. You patted his little bottom once and stopped when he started bawling."

Mollie propped herself up on her elbows. "Well, you were the enabler who gave him the pacifier back," she pointed out.

"Hey, I was just…" Burt sighed. "He was upset, okay?"

Mollie flopped back on the floor with a groan. "He has them hidden all over the house," she said. "Every time I take one away and throw it out, I turn around and he's got another one in his mouth."

"Bathroom drawers, behind the bookshelves, under the couch…" Burt mused. "We're never going to get him to stop." He dragged his hand over his face. "God, Mollie, what're we gonna do when he's a teenager?"

"Not thinking about that," she said. "I can't even think about sending him to preschool without tearing up, so don't even mention him being a teenager."

Their despair-laden conversation was interrupted by bump-slide, bump-slide noise of Kurt scooting down the stairs, and then his rapid little feet on the carpeted floor. "Mommy," he announced imperiously as he hopped into the living room, dressed in Powerpuff Girl pajamas and only one sock, "I'm awake."

He ended this pronouncement by popping his pacifier (a yellow one this time) into his mouth and throwing his blue baby blanket around his shoulders like a cape.

Mollie sat up. "Did you have a good nap, punkin?" she asked. Kurt nodded and flung himself into her lap.

"Kurt, kiddo, spit the paci out," Burt warned, holding out his hand. Kurt shook his head violently. "Kurt, you have to obey." Kurt shook his head again and retreated further into the safety of Mollie's arms, pulling her long hair over his face.

"Let me try something," Mollie said, tugging her hair free of Kurt's grip and shifting him so he was facing her. "Now, Kurt, you are the handsomest little boy I know."

Kurt's blue eyes lit up and he popped the paci out of his mouth. "Thank you," he said politely before sticking it back in.

"But do you know what happens to handsome little boys who suck on their pacifiers too much?" Mollie asked. Kurt shook his head, wide-eyed. "Their baby teeth fall out and their grown-up teeth grow in all crooked and funny."

Kurt's blue-green eyes rounded in horror. He hastily spat the pacifier out and handed it to Mollie, then scooted over to the couch. "Thscuthe me, Daddy," he said. Burt moved over and Kurt dug a purple pacifier out from behind the pillow. He ran over and dropped it in Mollie's lap before making a beeline for the kitchen.

"I'll be damned," Burt marveled. "Appeal to the kid's vanity and he'll do anything."

Kurt zipped out of the kitchen with another pacifier in his hand. Mollie took it and laughed. "Now I'm actually starting to look forward to his teen years," she said. "He'll be so much easier to manage."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

OH LOOK MORE BABY KURT.

My ovaries hurt.


	77. What If?

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>He glanced up, his smile fading. His French teacher and Miss Pillsbury were both looking at him, and their anxious expressions made his stomach unexpectedly tighten.<p>

"Kurt, venez ici, s'il vous plait," Madam Walker said.

He stood up slowly, chin raised, painfully aware of his classmates turning to look at him as silence started to scatter across the room. "What is it?" he whispered.

Miss Pillsbury twisted her fingers together. "Kurt, I'm afraid that…something's happened," she said. "Your father's in the hospital."

"What?" he stammered. "What's going on? What happened?"

"Kurt, go ahead and get your things," Madam Walker said softly.

He couldn't move. He just stared dumbly at his French teacher as the room spun around him until Miss Pillsbury gently took him by the arm and tugged him towards the door. He could barely walk straight. It was like someone had punched him in the stomach and his breath couldn't come back.

They had barely reached the hallway when he heard familiar quick footsteps heading towards them. He looked up, dazed. "Mom?" he said, his voice shaking.

Mollie hurried down the hall. "It's okay," she said, pulling him into a tight hug. "Dad's going to be fine."

His whole body shuddered as he latched onto his mother's shoulders. "Mom, what happened?" he asked.

Mollie rubbed his back. "He had a heart attack," she said. "Mr. Yoder was at the shop when it happened and he called an ambulance."

Kurt buried his face in his mother's shoulder. She smelled comforting, like strawberries and caramel popcorn and tempera paint and discount shampoo, and she squeezed him so hard it nearly hurt. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked, his voice small.

"He's going to be _fine_," Mollie said firmly. "You know how I've been nagging him to eat better and do some kind of exercise beyond picking up the television remote. If I can just get him to stop eating so much junk between meals…"

Her voice caught in her throat and he tightened his arms around her waist, suddenly aware of how much taller than her he'd gotten. Mollie took a deep breath and rubbed his shoulders. "Come on, baby," she said softly. "Let's go see that daddy of yours. Maybe we can lecture him into actually listening to us, hm?"

He sort of half-laughed at that, his throat feeling thick. Mollie tangled his fingers in his hair and kissed his forehead. "Come on, KK," she said, stepping back and taking him by the hand like he was six years old again.

He linked his fingers tightly through hers and followed her down the hallway, still anxious but slightly reassured.

_At least I have my mom, _he thought. _At least I don't have to do this alone._

* * *

><p><em><em>**Author's Notes:**

Just a pensive little "what if" scenario.

Commence tears...now.


	78. Coffee!

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine waved as Kurt walked into the coffee shop and glanced around. He smiled as his boyfriend's blue eyes lit up.<p>

Kurt pushed the stroller towards him. "Sorry I'm late," he said, bending to kiss Blaine lightly. "Carole got called into work, so guess who gets to babysit today?"

"Ooh, I guess big brother Kurt!" Blaine grinned, bending over to kiss the little girl in the stroller. "Hi there, Miss Emily." The eighteen-month-old crowed happily and latched onto Blaine's nose with one chubby hand.

"Can you keep an eye on her for a second?" Kurt asked. "I have to pee like you wouldn't believe, but babies don't give you much opportunity for personal time."

"I think I can handle it," Blaine grinned. Kurt dropped a kiss on his cheek and headed off towards the bathroom.

"Up!" Emily ordered, pulling impatiently at the leg of Blaine's cargo shorts. "Up, up, up, Baine."

"Oh, you want up?" Blaine said. He unlatched the seatbelt that kept her in the stroller and set her on her lap. "You're getting so big, Emmy."

She scowled at him, looking so much like her older brother that he had to laugh, and stretched out one small arm for his coffee. "Nah uh uh, little honey, coffee's not good for little girls," Blaine chided, moving his mocha frappacino out of the way.

She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. "Well, maybe just a sip," Blaine relented. He lowered the cup so that the straw was close to her mouth.

"Yummy!" Emily said, grabbing for the cup again. Her mouth dropped open in outrage as Blaine pulled it out of her reach. "No! No, Baine!"

"You're too little for coffee, Emmy," Blaine said.

He should have known that reasoning with a toddler was impossible, because Emily immediately began to wail. The other patrons of the coffee shop swiveled to stare at him and he shifted uncomfortably. "Okay, just a little more, but you've got to stop crying, okay?'

He settled Emily more comfortably on his lap and handed her the cup. She sucked the icy drink down eagerly as her tears stopped.

"Zachary Blaine Anderson, what do you think you're doing to my little sister?"

Blaine jumped guiltily. "She…was thirsty," he offered lamely.

Kurt stomped over and pulled the straw out of his baby sister's mouth, then picked her up and set her on his hip. "No, Emily Carys," he scolded. "No coffee for you."

Emily flung her arms around his neck. "Coffee!" she repeated happily, her voice rising in a shriek. "Coffee coffee coffee!"

She wriggled out of Kurt's arms and toddled back over to Blaine. "Coffee!" she squealed, pulling herself onto his knees. "Coffee, Baine. Coffee."

Kurt folded his arms. "I hope you've realized that this little monster is your doing," he said.

"I take full responsibility," Blaine sighed as he held the frappacino cup over Emily's hand and watched the toddler try to jump for it. "Your parents are going to kill me, aren't they?"

"Uh-huh."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I haven't written anything with Emily lately! Isn't she a doll?

I'm still hoping for an accidental Hudmel baby...

HEY MR. MURPHY, THE CHRISTMAS EPISODE IS COMING UP. PERFECT CHRISTMAS PRESENT, RIGHT THAR.


	79. Peanut Allergy

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Carole frowned. "Kurt?" she said.<p>

The lump curled on the couch made a noncommittal noise.

Carole approached carefully. Her stepson was curled up tightly in a fetal position on the couch, clad in a tee shirt and badly wrinkled seersucker shorts. His button-up shirt was discarded on the arm of the chair, and he had kicked off only one of his shoes. "I thought you were spending the day at the Andersons' house," she said.

"Mm," Kurt grunted into the pillow.

"Did you and Blaine have a fight?" she asked. Kurt shook his head and curled up tighter, his arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. "Are you sick?" He paused, then nodded.

Carole sat down on the edge of the couch and touched the back of her hand to his forehead. "You don't feel warm," she said.

He sighed heavily. "Carole…I did something stupid," he admitted.

Horrifying visions of booze and pot brownies danced in her head. "What kind of stupid?" she asked warily.

He rolled onto his back, his knees still drawn up, and cracked one bleary blue-green eye open. "Blaine wanted to make lunch, and he made peanut butter sandwiches," he confessed.

"Oh," she said. Then she remembered. "Oh, honey. You can't do that, you're allergic."

"I know," Kurt moaned, throwing one arm above his head. "But you try saying that when your boyfriend offers to make you lunch and is so proud of his limited cooking skills."

Carole sighed and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. "Blaine won't judge you for having a peanut allergy," she said.

"I couldn't tell him no," Kurt whined.

"So you would rather eat a peanut butter sandwich and feel sick as a dog for the rest of the day than tell your boyfriend that the lunch he made you will make you ill?" Carole said.

"Two sandwiches," he corrected.

"Oh, _Kurt,_" Carole scolded. "Honey, you need to tell him."

Kurt rolled onto his side. "I'll be fine," he said, his voice muffled into the pillow. "I'll just lie here until I throw up and my throat stops feeling like someone's stepping on it, and I'll be fine."

"And you're willing to do this every time Blaine offers you something you're allergic to?" Carole asked.

Kurt curled up in a tighter ball. She sighed and patted his back lightly. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

She got up to leave, but caught sight of Kurt's iPhone lying discarded on the coffee table. Slyly she picked it up and obscured it from Kurt's view as she headed towards the kitchen.

As soon as she was out of Kurt's sight, she picked up the phone, smiling at the adorable photo of her stepson and his boyfriend beaming cheek-to-cheek at the camera, and scrolled around until she clumsily dialed Blaine's number. She tucked the phone against her shoulder as she filled up the teakettle.

Blaine picked up on the second ring. "Hey, there, handsome," he crooned. "Miss me already?"

Carole cleared her throat. "Hi, Blaine, this is Carole," she said.

"Oh," Blaine said in a small voice. "Oh. Um. Hello, Mrs. Hummel. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you for asking," she grinned. "I was just calling to ask you how Kurt was today."

"Why? Isn't he at home? Is he okay?" Blaine asked.

"Oh, he's here," Carole said. She pulled a box of teabags out of the pantry. "I was just wondering if you noticed he was acting a little strange today."

"Oh," Blaine said. "Well…he did seem sort of quiet after lunch. We were going to go to the mall, and he asked if we could just watch a movie or something instead, and that seemed really strange. And we only got through an episode and a half of Friends before he said he had forgotten that Burt asked him to mow the lawn today."

Carole glanced out the kitchen window at the mostly-even lawn that Finn had mowed the day before. "Ah," she said. "Well." She dropped a teabag in a blue and red mug. "Blaine, honey, did you know that Kurt is allergic to peanuts?"

The other line crackled for a second. "Sorry, sorry, I dropped my phone," Blaine said breathlessly. "Oh. Oh, god. I gave him peanut butter. Oh god. Is he okay? Is he in the emergency room?"

"He's fine," Carole reassured him. "It's not a life-threatening allergy."

Blaine exhaled deeply, the sound crackling over the phone. "I am so, so sorry. I didn't know. Oh my god," he said. "Is he all right?"

"He's nauseous and uncomfortable, but he'll be fine," Carole said. "He just didn't know how to tell you that he was allergic."

"Oh my god," Blaine repeated. "I'm so sorry."

"Honey, you didn't know," Carole said, balancing the phone as she carefully poured hot water into the mug. "I just figured I'd fill you in. Kurt's probably going to be pretty tired for the rest of the day, so I'll tell him to call you in the morning, all right?"

"Okay," he said. "Will…will you tell him I'm sorry? And that…" His voice rose a little, high-pitched and shy. "And that I love him?"

"I certainly will, honey," she said warmly. "Don't worry, he'll be perfectly fine in the morning."

"Okay," Blaine said. "Thank you, Mrs. Hummel."

"You're welcome," she said. "I'll talk to you soon, Blaine."

She hung up the phone and set it aside, then rummaged in the collection of medications in a narrow kitchen drawer. Most of them were orange bottles labeled with Burt's name, but towards the back she found a pack of Benadryl. She popped two pink and white pills out of the blister pack, picked up the mug of tea, and headed back to the living room.

Kurt was still curled up in a tight fetal position, his face buried in a pillow, but she could hear how labored his breathing was. Her heart tightened. "Kurt, sweetheart, sit up for me," she said gently.

He obeyed slowly. "I made you some tea," she said, taking his hands and cupping them around the mug. "It's peppermint, it'll settle your stomach. And I got you some Benadryl."

He popped the pills and sipped the tea slowly as she watched him like a hawk. "Thank you," he said.

She reached over and tugged off his shoe, dropping it on the floor to join its mate. "You're going to stay on the couch for the rest of the day, blue eyes," she said. "I think plenty of tea and some mindless TV is in order."

"Okay," he said meekly.

She brushed his hair back. "And Blaine told me to tell you that he's sorry he fed you peanut butter, and he loves you very much," she informed him.

Kurt blanched paler than usual, the summer freckles dotting the bridge of his nose and his cheekbones standing out like droplets of ink. "Oh, Carole, you didn't," he said.

"Would you rather eat another peanut butter sandwich and hide on the couch in agony, or deal with your boyfriend knowing there are certain things you can't eat?" she challenged in the voice that Finn usually referred to as "dictator mom."

Kurt dropped his gaze and took another obedient sip of his tea. "I thought so," she said, satisfied.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Poor precious baby.

This is painfully close to real life for me. I'm allergic to everything- peanuts, yeast, cheese, tomatoes, beef, soybeans, chocolate, mushrooms, carrots, watermelon...yeah. Forty-seven allergies. I took shots for years, so I'm not going to die or anything, but some of my allergies make my throat close up and my stomach hurt unbearably. So...that's how Kurt reacts. Poor baby.

And poor Blaine, for accidentally poisoning him.

And also four for Carole. You go, Carole.


	80. Black Eyes

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt's scowl deepened as his son's fifth grade teacher tugged him to the side. "Kurt came in from recess with a black eye," she said quietly. "He refused to tell me who did it, and none of the other children claim to know anything about it. I did my best, but they're not talking." She cleared her throat. "I was hoping you would be able to get him to tell you who it was."<p>

Burt glanced over at the elementary schoolers waiting to be picked up from school, all of them talking and laughing and playing noisily, except for one small boy sitting by himself. "I think I can manage that," he said grimly before marching over to his son.

Kurt huddled under a tree, skinny arms wrapped around his legs and his forehead pressed against his knees. Burt squatted down beside him. "Hey, kiddo," he said.

Kurt started to glance up, but yanked the brim of his newsboy cap down over his eyes. "Mrs. Cooper says somebody got in a lucky punch today," Burt said.

Kurt's narrow shoulders twitched.

"You gonna let me see?" he asked, doing his best to keep his voice gentle and even. Kurt didn't respond. "You know I'm eventually going to see it. Might as well get it over with."

Slowly Kurt lifted his head. Burt pushed the brim of his cap back and tilted his chin up. Kurt's left eye was swollen shut and painted in lurid shades of red and purple. His other eye was red-rimmed from crying. "That's some shiner you've got," Burt finally said. "Wanna tell me who did it?"

Kurt shook his head hard. Burt rubbed his shoulders. "The kid who did this won't get punished if you don't tell," he said. "C'mon, kiddo, you can tell your dad."

Kurt shook his head again and Burt bit back a frustrated grunt. His kid was too stubborn for his own good.

"Mr. Hummel?"

He looked back to see a pleasant-faced blonde woman walking towards him, holding a little girl around Kurt's age by the hand. "I'm Mrs. Pierce," she said. She gave the little blonde girl a gentle nudge. "Britty, honey, tell Kurt's daddy what you saw on the playground today."

Brittany half-hid behind her mother. "It was one of the sixth graders," she said. "Kurt was drawing during recess, and one of the sixth graders took his notebook and held it up too high, and when Kurt tried to jump up and get it back, he hit him in the face."

A strange combination of relief and irrational anger surged through Burt. "Thank you, kiddo," he said, awkwardly patting Brittany on the head and mussing her ponytail.

Mrs. Pierce hugged Brittany around the shoulders. "Remember what Daddy and I told you, honey, if you see something wrong, you need to speak up," she said. She looked up at Burt. "I hope Kurt's all right."

"He'll be fine," Burt said. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

He turned back to his son as the Pierces walked away. "I'm gonna get in trouble," Kurt whispered into his knees. "They're gonna know I told."

"You're not a tattletale," Burt said firmly, reaching down to lift Kurt to his feet and pick up his backpack. "Those kids need to be punished. And you need to learn how to fight back."

"I _tried,_" Kurt burst out. "I tried, Dad, but it doesn't matter what I say, they're all just bigger than me, and I'm not big enough to fight back!"

Burt halted. "Kurt, does this happen a lot?" he demanded.

Kurt said nothing, but his mouth trembled. Burt grabbed his son's hand, slender and bony in his big rough grip, and walked back towards the teacher, his heart sinking at the hopelessness in Kurt's one good eye.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Burt Hummel: best daddy ever.

But poor wee Kurt, my creys.

Why do I love to torture poor sweet Kurt so?


	81. Thunderstorms and Little Furt

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Finn jerked awake as his bedroom flashed brightly for a second. For a moment he blinked in confusion, but then thunder cracked, rattling the windows. He jumped, bolting up in his bed and pulling his blankets up to his shoulders.<p>

Rain pelted the windows, sounding like pebbles dropping on pavement. He could hear the wind whistling past and thunder rolling, and the plugged-in nightlight on the basement stairwell flickered.

Finn peeked over at Kurt's bed. His new little stepbrother was huddled under his cheerful yellow and blue quilt, presumably still fast asleep. Finn bit his lip. He sort of wished he could crawl into Kurt's bed, just so he wouldn't feel so lonely. If he could, he'd go cuddle with his mom, but now she was married to Kurt's dad and he didn't know if it would be okay to cuddle anymore.

_You're big now, Finn, _he told himself. _You don't need your mom. It's just a storm, and besides, you've got a nightlight._

And then the lightning cracked, and with a sharp click the nightlight sputtered out.

Finn sucked in a gasp, gripping the blankets tightly. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay," he mumbled. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay…"

He heard a thin reedy wail from Kurt's bed. Finn peeked out over his blankets, trying to squint through the darkness at his stepbrother. "Kurt," he whispered loudly. "Kurt, is that you?"

He picked up his blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders like a cape of safety, then scooted to the edge of his bed. The second his toes touched the floor he bolted across the room, as if he was afraid that something might reach out from under the bed if he didn't move fast enough, and he leaped onto Kurt's bed.

"Kurt, it's just me," he whispered, pulling the blankets back in a vain attempt to find his stepbrother somewhere within the cocoon. "Kurt, are you scared? I'm kind of scared."

He finally pulled the last layer back. Kurt's face was flushed and scrunched up, like he was trying not to cry. "Finn, I can't see," he whispered. "It's too dark. And-"

The basement lit up with lightning. Both boys screamed shrilly as thunder cracked; Finn dove under the covers beside Kurt. "I want my mom," Kurt whimpered. "I want my mom, I want my mom."

"Me too," Finn said, huddling next to him. He could feel Kurt shaking, but he didn't know what to do. Maybe he should get out of bed and find his mom. But at the same time, he was still kind of scared of what might leap out at him in the dark.

He felt the edge of Kurt's bed dip a little bit, and a gentle hand pat his back. "Finn, sweetie, are you okay?" he heard his mother ask softly.

Finn sat up and flung his arms around her neck. She smelled safe and comfortable, like Jergens lotion and dryer sheets, and her old robe felt cool and silky and familiar against his cheek. "Oh, yay, Mom," he blurted out. "The storm is real loud and the nightlight went dark."

Carole hugged him tightly. "The power went out, honey," she said, dropping a kiss on the top of his head. She reached around to pat Kurt's shoulder lightly. "Kurt, sweetheart, are you awake?"

Finn tugged on his mother's sleeve. "He wants his mom," he whispered.

Carole drew back the blankets away from Kurt's face and touched his cheek. He squinted up at her in the darkness, biting down hard on his lower lip. "Do you boys want to sleep upstairs with us?" she asked softly.

Kurt nodded vigorously. Carole pulled him into a sitting position and smoothed his untidy bedhead. "Okay, little boys, let's get up," she said. Finn scrambled out of bed, following her eagerly. Kurt climbed out from under the comforters and trailed behind them.

The house was decidedly spookier at night. Especially the kitchen. The kitchen looked like it was haunted. Finn hid behind his mother, holding tightly onto her robe.

Something heavy stomped through the kitchen. "Yeah, the power's gotta be out in the whole neighborhood, I couldn't get the breakers to flip."

Finn tightened his grip on his mother's robe, but Kurt gave a sad little high-pitched shriek and darted past them into the kitchen, his tiny socked feet making little thumps on the linoleum floor. Burt emerged from the darkness, his flashlight flickering in his hand and casting strange shadows, and held out his arms.

"Hey, scooter," Burt crooned, scooping Kurt up easily. "You okay, bud?"

Carole wrapped her arms around Finn's shoulders. "We have two very worked-up little boys on our hands," she said. "I think they should come sleep with us."

Burt adjusted Kurt in his arms. "Sounds like a plan," he said.

Finn kept his fingers tight on the sleeve of his mother's robe as he trailed behind the rest of the family up the stairs to his parents' bedroom. Burt set the flashlight down on the nightstand and laid Kurt down on the bed. Finn crawled up beside him and flopped down on the soft mattress.

"Get some sleep, boys," Carole said, pulling off her robe and draping it over the hook in the closet. "I'll make a nice breakfast in the morning, okay?"

Finn wriggled into a comfortable position between Kurt and his mother. The blankets shifted and settled as Burt tugged them up over the four of them. The storm still raged outside, thunder and lightning and pelting rain, but it seemed decidedly less scary as he snuggled in the middle of the warm, cozy bed. His mom smoothed his hair gently and he heard Kurt heave a deep, contented sigh as he burrowed into his father's side, and slowly he fell asleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I actually have a whole story planned for this AU, where Carole marries Burt about a year after Mollie's death when the boys are still just little guys. Will I ever have time to write it? Who knows...

ALSO. I want to publicly declare my love for LivingforMi, who went through and reviewed every single chapter of this story. BLESS YOUR HEART, HONEY. HONOR ON YOUR COW.


	82. The Talk

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"You talked to my dad."<p>

Blaine glanced up from his homework and blinked. "Hi," he said. "And…uh…yeah, I talked to your dad…he was the one who let me in when I got here…"

Kurt glared at him. "You _talked _to my _dad_," he repeated, slowly and carefully like he was talking to a particularly dumb dog. "About…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "_Sex_."

Blaine started. "What? No!" he said. "No, I don't discuss sex with your dad! Especially not sex with y-"

Kurt clamped a hand over Blaine's mouth, his ears turning brilliant red. "Sh!" he said. "Just…stop. Stop it, okay?" He took a deep breath. "You talked to my dad about…it…before we were even dating. Remember? Around the time of the 'Animal' debacle?"

Blaine paused, then nodded. He pried Kurt's hand away from his mouth. "Uh, yeah, about that…" he said, swallowing hard. "I was…just trying to help."

"By telling my dad to talk to me about sex?" Kurt shrieked. "Oh, that's not helpful, Mr. Anderson, that's just…just…embarrassing! I didn't need you interfering!"

Blaine sat up. "Yes, you did," he said quietly. "Kurt, you're human. You're interested in sex. But you were so scared of it, and so…well, you didn't know anything about it. I just…" He reached over and took his hand. "The thought of you getting yourself in a situation where you wouldn't know what to do just scared me. I figured that if I talked to your dad and he talked to you, it might…keep you safe."

Kurt pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. "That's very…thoughtful," he said. "But still. Overstepping."

"Your dad told me the same thing," Blaine said ruefully. He tugged on Kurt's hand and pulled him down until he was sitting on his lap. "But if it's any consolation, I think you are very well educated and capable now. And definitely, _definitely _sexy."

Kurt finally smiled. "Well, my dad's pamphlets did teach me a lot…"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

DARLING BOYS.


	83. Babysitting

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Mama, I'm too big for a sitter," Blaine whined.<p>

"But you're too little to be left at home on your own, sweet pea," Lilah said, kissing her son's tousled curls. "Eleven isn't quite big enough, especially since we're won't be back till late, late, late. And Francey's not really babysitting you, she's just here to make you dinner and make sure you're safe."

"And that other little kid," Blaine groused, plopping down on the edge of his parents' bed with his arms wrapped around the bedpost and his plump lower lip sticking out.

"Honey lamb, you know Francey's started babysitting the neighborhood kids," Lilah said. "She already had this one lined up before your daddy's dinner at work came up. Now, I'm sure he's a very nice boy. He's ten years old, and Francey says he's very sweet and well-mannered. I want you to be kind while he's here. He's our guest."

"I don't want a guest," Blaine mumbled.

His mother ruffled his hair absentmindedly before turning back to carefully apply her lipstick. "Blaine, precious, I want you to be a gentleman, all right?" she said.

"All right," he grumbled reluctantly.

Francey stuck her head in the bedroom door. "Mom, Mr. Hummel and his kid are here," she said.

"Blaine, honey, go downstairs with Francey and say hello," Lilah said. Blaine rolled his eyes and slid off the edge of the bed before following his sister.

A broad-shouldered man in a denim jacket and a baseball cap stood in the foyer with his hands in his pockets. "Mr. Hummel, this is my little brother Blaine," Francey offered.

Mr. Hummel nodded. "Nice to meet you, Blaine," he said. He reached behind his back and tugged his son out. "This is Kurt. Sorry, he's a little shy."

Blaine stared, transfixed. Kurt was the prettiest boy he'd ever seen. "Hi," he said.

Kurt hid behind his father's legs again. Mr. Hummel sighed and pried him out. "Kiddo, you've got to stop crying," he said. "I'll be back tonight. I have to go pick up that transmission in Cleveland, and you can't come with me."

Kurt buried his face in his father's hip. "Please, Daddy?" he begged. "I'll be good. I'll help. I'll be your copilot and tell you when to turn."

Mr. Hummel knelt down to look his small son in the eyes; Kurt immediately latched onto his shoulders. "Scooter, you're still getting over the flu," he said gently. "You can't come with me this time. You need to stay here with your babysitter. Miss Francey's gonna make you dinner and make sure you don't wear yourself out, okay?"

Kurt's face crumpled and he buried his face in his father's neck just as Lilah Anderson walked down the stairs. "He doesn't want you to go?" she asked sympathetically.

"He's always clingy when he's sick," Mr. Hummel said. "He's mostly over this flu bug, but I don't want to take him with me and risk him getting worse."

"Well, he'll be in good hands with Blaine and Francey," Lilah promised. "Francey's been watching over her little brother since he was born, and she'll do a great job with both boys."

Mr. Hummel pried Kurt's hands away. "You hear that, bud?" he said. "You're gonna be fine." He kissed the top of his head. "I gave Miss Francey my cellphone number, and if she thinks you need to talk to me, she'll give me a call, all right? I love you, buddy. Be good."

He disappeared out the front door faster than Blaine thought possible. Kurt stared after his father, silent tears making tracks down his cheeks. He looked so forlorn standing there, swallowed up in his green winter coat with his plaid backpack on his shoulders.

Francey sidled close and put her arm around him. "Don't be sad," she said, kind but nevertheless bossy. "I'm an awesome babysitter and this'll be fun, okay?"

"I'd really rather have my daddy, please," Kurt whispered.

Francey brushed his tears away with her thumb. "Nope," she said cheerfully. "Your dad'll be back soon. But we're going to make homemade pizza for dinner. You can put whatever you want on yours. I've got a lot of cheese and pepperoni and onions and sausage…"

Kurt looked up at her hopefully. "Can I have ham and pineapple?" he ventured.

"Uh-huh, but you've got to stop crying," Francey said, holding out her hand.

Kurt sniffled and shyly tucked his hand in hers. Francey marched him off towards the kitchen, telling him all about all the fun things they were going to do while she was babysitting. Blaine blinked, then trotted after them. "Hey! Wait up! I wanna put stuff on my pizza!" he said. "Kurt! Watch me! I'm going to make mine look like a smiley face! Hey! Wait!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Oh, good, some happy kid!Klaine to cheer me up after the new Goodnight chapter...

Also, what on earth is with me and Hawaiian pizza? I dare you, just look- every time I write about someone eating pizza, someone always asks for Hawaiian. _Every damn time._

I think it's one of my running gags now. I have a couple of them.

Also, I can't decide if Francey would be an awesome babysitter or not. Because the kids would love her, but she'd encourage them to dress like Superman and jump off the roof or something.


	84. Southern Gentlemen

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Your family reunion is a little overwhelming," Kurt whispered in Blaine's ear.<p>

Blaine laughed, draping an arm lazily around Kurt's shoulders as the hammock swayed under them. "My family loves you," he said.

Kurt nestled into his side. "I still don't think I'm dressed properly for the occasion," he said.

Blaine looked him up and down. Kurt had panicked that morning, trying on at least half the clothing items he'd packed for the Montrose family reunion, and Blaine had finally picked his outfit for him, selecting a fitted French blue short sleeve button-up, khaki shorts, and plaid blue boat shoes. "You look amazing," he said. "Amazing and adorable."

"Says the poster boy for the southern prep look," Kurt retorted. "I look ridiculous next to you."

Blaine shrugged. "Everyone wears polo shirts and plaid shorts around here," he said, stretching his legs down the length of the hammock and tangling his bare toes with Kurt's. "This is just normal."

Kurt sighed. "Can we just stay here?" he said. "I like the south. It's so sunny and peaceful, and everyone has such nice accents." He sat up. "When we've finished our triumphant careers in New York and our kids are grown up, can we retire here?"

Blaine laughed. "That's jumping the gun just a little bit, but sure," he said. He tugged Kurt back until he was lying against him again, the summer sun highlighting blond streaks in Kurt's brown hair. "We'll retire to Elizabethtown, take over the family horse farm…"

"I like this plan," Kurt murmured into his neck. "I know it took ages to convince my dad to let me come here, but do you think we can stay another couple of days? Your grandmother promised to teach me how to make biscuits properly."

Blaine brushed a kiss against Kurt's temple. "You'll come back with freckles and a southern accent," he teased.

"I will not," Kurt said, pushing him back playfully.

Blaine nosed at the sensitive spot right behind Kurt's ear. "Well, I do declare, Mr. Hummel, you're fightin' back just entirely too much," he drawled in an accent so thick he could cut it with a knife. "I thought you wanted yourself a real good southern boy."

Kurt shivered. "Oh, god, I never knew I had a thing for accents…" he said. "Say something else! Say something else!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

This actually works nicely with the drabble I posted on Tumblr today!

I write Blaine's mother as a southern belle, so Blaine was raised as a little southern gentleman, going to cotillion and stuff. AND IT'S PROBABLY CANON BECAUSE COME ON, THE BOY PLAYS POLO. _POLO._

Also fun fact: one of the first dates my husband and I went on was to his family reunion. And he's from Tennessee, so you can just imagine.

But anyways, the family matriarch saw me with him (I was a bitty nineteen-year-old at the time) and declared that we were perfect for each other and we were going to end up married.


	85. Bubble Bath

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Mollie Hummel loved her little son.<p>

She loved his bedhead and sticky kisses when he jumped onto her bed in the morning. She loved listening to him sing to himself as he played in the living room. She loved it when he helped her cook dinner, trotting along behind her as she set the table with two nice plates and one plastic princess one. She loved watching him perch on his daddy's knee and babble about his day while Burt listened carefully.

But most of all, she loved bubble bath time.

Every night, she gave him a bath before bed. She'd always done that, ever since he was a baby. It worked, though. Kurt usually bounced around chirping happily all day, but get him in a nice warm bath with Johnson and Johnson baby shampoo in his hair, and he got drowsy in an instant.

Mollie tied her long hair back with a ribbon. "Is it warm enough, baby, or too hot?" she asked.

Kurt patted the surface of the water. "Needs bubbles," he said.

She smiled as she rolled up the sleeves of her shirtwaist dress. "It needs bubbles?" she said. "What kind of bubbles?"

Kurt pointed frantically at the pink bottle on the edge of the tub. "Those bubble, Mommy, those bubbles!" he said.

"All right," she said, uncapping the bottle and drizzling the pink liquid into the bath. Kurt shrieked in happiness and splashed around, churning the water into bubbles. Mollie laughed and ducked. "Is that fun?"

"Yes!" Kurt said, opening and closing his small fists in the thick foam. She scooped up a handful of bubbles and blew them gently into his face. Kurt squealed. "Again! Again!"

"Well, we have to give you a real bath, remember?" Mollie said. She cupped her hand over his eyes and used a plastic Power Rangers cup to scoop up water and carefully pour it over his head. Kurt hummed happily.

She squeezed a dollop of golden shampoo into her hands and massaged it through his thick hair. "Mommy, I want to wash Ariel's hair too," Kurt said.

She handed him the seashell-clad doll from the small bucket of bath time toys beside the tub. "Hold out your hand," she said. He obeyed and she squeezed a little bit of shampoo into his small palm.

Mollie smiled as she watched Kurt scrub the doll's hair the same way she was washing his. He was such a thoughtful little thing, more intuitive than the other four-year-olds in his kindergarten class. Maybe she was just biased, seeing as how she was his mother and all, but he really was such a sweet child.

She rinsed the last of the shampoo from his hair and pressed a light kiss to his wet forehead. "Your hair's all clean," she said. "Hand me your scrubbie, precious."

He absentmindedly handed her the washcloth, still absorbed in washing Ariel's red synthetic hair. Mollie rubbed the bar of Ivory soap onto the damp cloth and started scrubbing his back in small circles.

By the time she finished giving his bath, the bubbles were mostly gone, the water was tepid, and Kurt's chin was tipping towards his chest, the Ariel doll limp in his hands. "Are you sleepy, honey?" she asked.

Kurt nodded, his blue eyes heavily lidded. Mollie pulled the plug in the bathtub, pried the Ariel doll out of her son's hands, and picked him up out of the tub.. "There you go, sweet boy," she said, draping his hooded ducky towel over his head. He shivered a little and she wrapped the towel around him tightly. "Come on, sweet pea, time for bed."

"Carry me," Kurt whined.

Mollie smiled down at him as he stuck out his lower lip in a sulk. "Only because you're so tired," she said, nuzzling her nose against his. She scooped him up and carried him down the hall to his bedroom. "Get in your pajamas so you can go to sleep."

Kurt wriggled out of his ducky towel and picked up his tiny clothes. "Mommy, do I have to go to kindergarten tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes, you do, baby," Mollie said, tugging back the striped sheets and quilted comforter on his bed. "Do you not want to go to kindergarten?"

Kurt plopped down on the floor to shimmy into his plaid flannel pajama pants. "It's boring," he said. "I wanna go to big kid school." He pulled his tee shirt over his head, hopelessly ruffling his hair, and frowned.

Mollie tugged the tee shirt off his arms, turned it around so the tag was in the back, and guided his thin little arms back through the sleeves. "You can go to big kid school when you're grown up," she said, picking him up and setting him on his bed. "But right now you're a little kid, and little kids need to go to sleep."

Kurt patted the space beside him. "Cuddle?" he asked hopefully.

He gazed up at her, wide-eyed and trusting and so small in his big bed, and Mollie relented. After all, she wouldn't have him this sweet and little forever. "Scooch over," she said, turning on the nightlight and turning off the overhead.

She laid down beside him as he snuggled up to her side, his damp head pressed between her cheek and the pillow. Mollie drew the blankets over them both and hugged him close, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo that clung to his silky hair.

Kurt flopped onto his tummy, his arms drawn to his chest and one little leg flung over her knee. Mollie stroked his narrow back, slow and soothing, and before long he drooped into sleep, his breaths slow and even.

She smiled into his hair, pressing soft kisses against the top of his head as he snored lightly against her neck. This was definitely her favorite time of day.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

All the cuddly babyness.

My ovaries hurt. Why don't I have a baby, dammit?

Oh well. At least I can write about Mollie and baby Kurt. Because they're adorable.


	86. Blue Eyes

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"What the hell, dude?" Finn demanded.<p>

"Leave me alone, Finn," Kurt said through his teeth, shouldering his messenger bag as he headed up the stairs.

Finn dogged his steps. "No, you're not getting away with this," he snapped, his long legs taking the steps two at a time. "There's no reason for you to be such a brat to my mom."

Kurt gritted his teeth, his jaw jutting out sharply. "Oh, well, I'm sorry. Next time I'll be much nicer to _your _mom," he said. "Now get out of my way, please. I have more important things to do than listen to you talk about _your _mom."

Finn stopped for a moment. "Why are you so upset?" he asked. "All Mom did was ask how our day went."

Kurt wheeled around at the top of the staircase, looking tall and terrible in the late afternoon light filtering through the windows. "No, Finn, _your _mom asked you how _your _day was," he said. "I'm not her son."

Finn took a step back, leaning on the banister. "She treats you like her own kid, though," he said, perplexed. "She loves you. Why do you pretend you suddenly can't hear when she talks to you?"

Kurt's fingers tightened on the railing. He took a deep breath, his chest rising sharply. "Because every time your mother talks, it gets harder and harder to remember what _my _mother sounded like," he said, his voice spiraling up. He pushed away from the banister and turned towards his room. "You wouldn't understand."

Finn watched Kurt storm away, his anger at his stepbrother fading as the bedroom door slammed. He blinked. The house fell silent.

Finn slid his backpack to the floor and abandoned it on the landing before walking back downstairs. His mother was still in the kitchen, flipping through a cookbook, but her lips were pressed together tightly and she was turning pages too quickly. "Hey, Mom," Finn said quietly. "Do you, uh…the boxes from Kurt's old house's attic…they're in the storage closet, right?"

She nodded. "They're all labeled," she said stiffly.

He paused long enough to hug her, awkward but gentle. "He doesn't mean it," he whispered.

Carole's arm tightened briefly around his waist. "I know," she said. "I know, honey." She patted his back and went back to her cookbook. "I'm going to get dinner started soon, okay?"

He nodded and headed back towards the big storage closet next to the laundry room. There were a lot of boxes that never got unpacked, the sort of things that no one ever got out but couldn't bear to give up. He'd helped Burt move most of the things from the attic of the old Hummel house to their new home, pretending not to notice as his stepfather gazed down at the dusty boxes and traced his fingers longingly across the name written in messy black marker across the tops. _m-o-l-l-i-e, m-o-l-l-i-e, m-o-l-l-i-e…_

He rummaged around carefully, peeking inside, until he found what he was looking for. Carefully he lifted the box, ignoring the dust smearing across his school shirt, and smuggled it out of the laundry room.

Kurt's bedroom door was closed, but he didn't hear any of the usual sounds of an iPod playing on the stereo or Blaine's tinny voice on speakerphone. Finn adjusted the box on his hip and knocked lightly. "It's Finn," he called. "Can I come in?"

"I'm studying, Finn, go away."

Kurt's voice sounded thick and husky. Finn squared his shoulders and turned the doorknob, risking his stepbrother's wrath. "I brought you something," he offered.

Kurt didn't look up from his desk. He copied down an equation from his graphing calculator, slow and painstakingly neat. "Thank you, Finn," he said. "I'm doing homework. Just leave it by the door. I'll look at it later."

Finn shifted his weight and cleared his throat. "Quinn told me about all those home movies you've got," he said.

Kurt's pencil halted on the page.

"I saw your dad packing them up when we moved you guys out of your house, so…" He jiggled the box a little. "Maybe this could help you remember what your mom sounded like."

Kurt's shoulders tensed. "It's more than just that," he said.

"More what?" Finn asked.

Kurt set his pencil down and pressed his fingertips to his temples. "Sometimes I can't remember what she looked like," he said. "I just see this…faceless blur. And I don't remember how she smiled, or what her laugh sounded like…" His hands moved to cover his eyes. "Did you know that sometimes I have to stop myself from calling Carole 'mom'?"

Finn straightened up and grinned. "Dude, she'd love that," he said.

"But what about _my _mother?" Kurt said desperately. "Every time I start to say it, all I can think of is my own mom, and how hurt she'd be if she knew that I'm…I'm forgetting her." He pressed his fingertips hard against the bridge of his nose, his knuckles whitening. His whole body curled in on itself. "That I'm replacing her."

Finn shifted his weight from one foot to the other, waiting awkwardly. Kurt didn't move.

After a while Finn set the box down on the floor, selected a VHS tape from the top at random, and silently slid it into the VCR slot on Kurt's television. He hit play, then sat down at the edge of Kurt's bed and waited.

The screen crackled to life, picking up in the middle of the scene. A pretty young woman with long hair in a messy, curly ponytail sat on a cheerful red gingham picnic blanket with her back to the camera. "Kurt, honey, are you ready for tea?" she called.

The camera panned dizzily towards a small playhouse, where a little tousled brown head popped out the window. "Not _yet_, Mommy," Kurt said. "My cupcakes aren't done yet."

"All right, all right," she said as the camera turned back. The young woman leaned back and smiled impishly, her freckles dancing across her tip-tilted nose. "In case you haven't noticed, tea is a very long process."

"I see," said Burt's disembodied voice, loud and gravelly from behind the camera.

Finn glanced over at Kurt. He was sitting up straight at his desk, his lips parted, his eyes fixed on the screen.

Kurt's pretty mother was still smiling at the camera. The breeze ruffled her loose curls and the skirt of her white sundress, and she slid her bare feet through the soft grass. She bantered back and forth with Burt, her voice light and lilting and sweet.

Suddenly a very small whirlwind ran into frame. "Mommy, Mommy, cupcakes!" little Kurt said, plunking down on the picnic blanket with a pink plastic plate in his small hands. His short sleeved button up shirt was rumpled, and he paused for a moment to tuck the hem back in the waistband of his striped shirts. "Mommy, I made cupcakes."

"I see," she said seriously, setting the plate next to the matching plastic teapot and teacups. "They look delicious. What kinds did you make?"

Kurt scooted towards her on his knees and sat down on her lap. "Those are yellow with chocolate, and those are strawberry, and those are peppermint," he reported.

His mother laughed. "Peppermint cupcakes?" she said.

"Uh-huh," he said, nodding vigorously. He pulled the end of her ponytail over his shoulder and tangled his small fingers in the curling ends. "Peppermint is my favorite candy."

She laughed again, kind and warm, and kissed him on the cheek, right on the dimple. "Pour your tea, KK," she said.

Finn glanced over at Kurt again. Kurt had pulled one leg up to his chest and rested his chin on his knee, his eyes very soft as he smiled at the television. "You look a lot like her, dude," Finn said quietly.

"I suppose I do," Kurt said, still smiling faintly. He sighed. "She was lovely, wasn't she?"

"She's really pretty," Finn said fervently.

The tape wore down and crackled into snow. Kurt's expression fell back into solemn lines. "Do you think she'd be mad that Dad and I moved on?" he ventured.

Finn clasped his hands and looked down at the carpet, attempting to put words together. "I think that…" he started to say. He reached over and turned Kurt's rolling desk chair around until his brother was forced to look at him, his blue eyes shy and baleful.

"I think your mom loved you, a whole lot," Finn said. "I think she would really want you to be happy. And…and you weren't happy for a really long time."

Kurt wrapped his arms tighter around his bent knee and gazed thoughtfully down at the carpet. Finn tugged the rolling chair closer. "I know that my mom isn't the same as your mom, and she's never gonna be the same," he said. "But having my mom around means that you don't have to take care of your dad all the time, or always cook dinner because there's no one else to do it, or…or stay home by yourself when you're sick." He reached over and squeezed Kurt's knee. "And just because you let my mom take care of you and stuff doesn't mean that you love your mom any less."

The tip of Kurt's nose had gone pink and his eyes were red rimmed, but he smiled at him. "Sometimes you can be a very wise man, Finn Hudson," he said softly.

"Finn Hudson-_Hummel_," Finn corrected. He squeezed Kurt's knee again, then sat back and cleared his throat. "You can, uh, go back to your math and stuff now if you want."

Kurt glanced back at the cardboard box by the door. "Did I ever tell you about when my parents took me to Disney World?" he said, almost shyly. "I met Ariel and I cried. My mom teased me about it all day and my dad went out and bought everything Little Mermaid related that he could find."

Finn snickered. "Really?" he said.

"Oh, like you wouldn't have peed yourself if Cinderella had set you on her knee when you were eight and said you were the prettiest prince she'd ever seen," Kurt said.

"Well, that's true," Finn admitted. "So…we going to watch it?"

Kurt smiled and climbed onto his bed. "It's the tape labeled 'Disney, 2002'," he said, pulling his blankets up around his knees. "And you have to promise not to laugh too much."

"I promise," Finn said as he switched the tapes out. He plunked down on the bed, slinging an arm around Kurt's shoulders.

_I think this family thing is going to work out, _he thought to himself as Kurt leaned into his side.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURT.

I just love Furt. It's like air. I hate canon!Finn, so writing my very own version of Finn is very cathartic.

And I wish we had more Hudmels on the show. Because seriously, we've seen Carole _once _since the wedding. _Onc_e. Really? Really, Glee people? You make a _huge _deal in season 1 about Kurt panicking over losing his dad and Finn freaking out over his mom getting remarried, and then in season 2 you did a whole episode about the wedding and Finn and Kurt bein' all awkward around each other and then..._*poof* _Nothing.

At least we got some sweet Furt brotherness in Funeral. _But I want more! I waaant mo-o-o-o-o-re__! I don't need their milk and honey, they can keep their-_

Please don't ask why I'm singing Claudia's song from Lestat: The Musical, because I honestly don't know.

But in any case. Here, have a Furt drabble. Also, I've written a drabble about wee Kurt going to meet Ariel, so it'll pop up here at some point.

And if I was to start a second drabble series, but an AU one, where Rachel and Blaine are siblings and Kurt and Quinn are siblings, what should I call it? _Hive mind ideas, go!_

(Related: _why am I using all the italics today?)_

Also, this was originally a fill for the Fluff Meme. It's still there. Somewhere.


	87. Mommy's Little Helper

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Mollie buried her face in her pillow and groaned. The last thing she wanted was to be lying in bed with a fever and a migraine, especially when it was winter break and she was supposed to enjoy two glorious weeks without teaching art to first graders who insisted on eating the glue. She was supposed to be baking Christmas cookies and decorating the tree and watching movies on the couch with her baby on her lap.<p>

"This was not what I wanted for Christmas," she mumbled.

Her bedroom door creaked. She opened one eye. "Burt?" she called. Her voice sounded wobbly and pathetic. "Could you get me some water, please?"

Instead of her husband's low, gentle voice, she heard the shuffling of little bitty socked feet on the carpet. "Mommy?" a teeny voice quavered.

She turned towards the voice. Kurt hovered anxiously at the foot of the bed, his little arms locked around a bedpost. She was pretty sure he'd dressed himself that morning, judging by his clever combination of a misbuttoned striped shirt and checked pants, and he clutched his light blue baby blanket in one hand. "Hi, baby," she croaked. "Isn't Daddy supposed to be watching you?"

The two and a half year old edged a little closer. "Daddy sleeping," he announced. His eyes were wide and concerned. "Mommy? Are you sick?"

"Yes, precious, Mommy's sick," she said. "Go wake up Daddy and tell him to play with you."

Kurt shook his head and crawled across the bed towards her. He patted his blanket against her cheek. "Can I make you better?" he asked.

She smiled despite herself. "Thank you, KK," she said. She reached up and smoothed his untidy hair. "It's very nice of you. Now go make Daddy play with you, okay?"

Kurt shook his head again. "Now I sing," he declared. He scooted a little closer and draped his blanket over her, then started singing his little heart out.

Mollie bit her lip in an effort not to laugh. "Baby, Mommy just needs to sleep, okay?" she said gently.

Kurt covered her mouth with his hand. "No, Mommy, I'm singing," he protested. He sucked in a deep breath in preparation for the next verse.

Burt walked into the bedroom as Kurt launched into his concert. "Hey, buddy, not now, Mommy's napping," he said.

"No!" Kurt wailed. "I'm singing!"

"You can sing for Mommy as much as you want when she's better," Burt promised, scooping the toddler up like a baby. "Right now we're gonna go play with the blocks. You like playing with the blocks, right?"

Kurt scowled. "Wanna sing," he pouted. He waved his blanket in his hand. "Please?"

"Not now, baby love," Mollie said, smiling at him as she burrowed deeper under her blankets. "Later."

Kurt scowled deeper. "Not happy," he warned her.

Burt laughed as he cuddled him against his chest. "Yeah, well, kiddo, you'll get over it," he said. "Come on. Play time." He bent over and kissed Mollie on the forehead. "You need anything, little girl?"

"Water, please," she murmured.

"Sure thing," he said. "Come on, scooter, let's get Mommy a drink of water."

Kurt brightened. "I'm helping!" he announced.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

WHY DON'T I HAVE A BABY KURT OF MY OWN YET?


	88. The Disney College Program

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Okay, guys, welcome to Take 5," the trainer said, pushing the door open and ushering them inside. Kurt trailed along at the edge of the group. "This is the cast member break area. Go ahead and get lunch, relax a little bit. We're going to spend some quality time with your scripts when we get back, okay? So be ready."<p>

The new college program trainees headed towards the lines. Kurt meandered after them towards the Subway line, mumbling over the opening lines to his script. "Welcome aboard. At this time, I'd like to ask everyone to please keep their hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times, and please refrain from eating, drinking, and smoking, and for the safety of our cast, we ask that you please refrain from-"

"Whoa!"

He bumped squarely into another cast member and stumbled back. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, I didn't see you," he apologized.

"Oh, don't worry, it's fine," the other guy said. He wore street clothes and a disturbing amount of makeup, and he held a Subway bag in his hand. "Were you going for the last coconut popsicle?"

Kurt glanced down at the freezer case. "No, uh…no," he said. "I'm really sorry."

"Seriously, don't worry about it," the guy said. "You're new, right?"

Kurt glanced down at the red "earning my ears!" ribbon hanging off his white nametag and blushed. "Painfully so," he said.

"Kurt, Lima, Ohio," the other guy read off the nametag. "Lima? No way! I'm from Westerville."

"Small world," Kurt joked lamely.

"I'm Blaine," the brunet said, offering his hand. "Welcome to Disney's Hollywood Studios. Are you with the college program?"

"Uh-huh," Kurt said. He shook Blaine's hand. "First day of training, actually."

"But you're at the Great Movie Ride, congrats," Blaine said. "Everybody wants that one."

Kurt looked down at his ill-fitting gray blazer. "I can't imagine why," he said ruefully.

Blaine laughed. "Trust me, being a Great Movie Rider is pretty awesome," he said. "You're one of the few non-performing cast member groups that can hold their own against the face characters."

"Well, that's good to know…I think," Kurt said. "Are…are you at the Great Movie Ride too?"

"No, I'm in Animation Courtyard, actually," Blaine said, shifting his weight a little. "I'm Jamie in Playhouse Disney."

Kurt's eyes widened. "Oh," he said. "Oh, so you're not a CP."

"Nope, just a full-timer," Blaine said cheerfully. He nudged Kurt's shoulder lightly. "What time do you get off?"

"Um, I think…early afternoon, I can't figure out this military time nonsense," Kurt said.

"My last show's at five-thirty," Blaine said. "Meet me there when you get off, I'll give you a tour around Studios." He grinned as he pulled the last coconut popsicle out of the freezer case. "And if you want to see the show, I'll save you a spot on the blue carpet."

"Oh…okay," Kurt stammered. Blaine grinned at him and waved goodbye with his popsicle.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

So you know how like every other drabble I'm like "this is my favorite! No, this is my favorite!"?

Well, _this is my very favorite drabble._

I want to turn this into a full length fic, actually.

See, I was a Disney cast member for four years! I did two college programs, both in Disney's Hollywood Studios, and was a representative of the Disney College Program. It was absolutely amazing and I highly recommend the experience.

But see, now I want to write an AU Glee fic where everyone works somewhere at Disney. My sister (another former CP- she was at Kim Possible's World Showcase Adventure in Epcot) and I sat down and planned out what roles everyone would have. And it would be _awesome._

And before you start getting mad because "omg Kurt and Blaine need to be princes!1!"..._no. _They wouldn't be cast. Kurt, possibly. He's just barely tall enough to reach the height range. Blaine...no. Precious boy, he's too short to be a prince. Maybe a parade dancer if he was lucky.

So I made Kurt a Great Movie Rider (THAT WAS MY JOB. BEST JOB EVER. OMG. I LOVED IT. I STILL KNOW MY WHOLE SPIEL AND HAVE NIGHTMARES ABOUT LOADING VEHICLES.) and Blaine is the emcee character in Playhouse Disney Live on Stage (or Playhouse Jr., as it's now called). GOOGLE THEM. GOOGLE THESE ATTRACTIONS AND IMAGINE KLAINE WORKING THERE AND YOU WILL DIE OF THE AWESOME.

Also, I am _incredibly _tempted to write this as a full length fic.


	89. Soccer is Dangerous

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Wow, Kurt, I'm surprised. You're actually kind of good at this."<p>

"Looks can be deceiving!" Kurt called over his shoulder as he clumsily dribbled the black and white ball down the backyard towards the makeshift goal. "I'm not actually good, I'm just competitive!"

Finn ran after him, trying to kick the ball away. Kurt darted to the side. Their little sister whooped from her seat on the porch. "Kurt's gonna win!" Emily cheered, waving her stuffed rabbit above her head.

Finn scowled. "Don't cheer for him, Emmy, cheer for me," he said.

Kurt laughed breathlessly. "She just doesn't want to cheer for a loser," he teased.

"Oh, now you're gonna get it," Finn said, and he kicked wildly forward.

Unfortunately for both of them, Kurt timed his own kick towards the goal at the exact same time, and instead of knocking the ball out of the way, Finn slammed into Kurt, full-force. One second Kurt was running for the goal, and the next he was flat on the ground, squinting up at the late afternoon sun.

"Oh, god, Kurt, are you okay?" Finn demanded, falling on his knees beside him. "Seriously, I'm sorry, I didn't try to kick you."

"I figured," Kurt wheezed. "Oh god. Ow. Ow ow ow."

Emily screamed. "Finn killed Kurt!" she shrieked, dropping her doll and running into the house. "Daddy, Mommy, Finn killed Kurt!"

Finn blinked. "God, I didn't kill you, did I?" he said.

"No," Kurt said, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "Just got the wind knocked out of me. Help me up."

Finn clasped his hand and pulled him up. Kurt struggled to his feet and immediately fell backwards. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down, dude," Finn coaxed. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Well, I'm not dead, but my leg might be," Kurt gasped. "Ow." He tugged on the cuff of his shorts, revealing a clear shoe-shaped red mark on his thigh. "Ow, Finn. Ow."

"I didn't mean to!" Finn protested. He sighed. "Can you walk on it?"

"Ask me again in an hour," Kurt said, flopping back in the grass. "I'm just going to wait for feeling to return to my thigh."

Finn rolled his eyes and scooped Kurt up off the grass, tossing him over his shoulder; Kurt shrieked and grabbed onto Finn's belt loops. "This was a lot easier when you were in high school," Finn said.

"That was three years ago, Finn, now please, put me down! I can walk just fine!" Kurt said.

He lugged Kurt up to the porch just as the glass door slid open. Carole quirked an eyebrow. "A certain hysterical little sister says that one of her big brothers killed the other," she said.

Emily clung to the hem of Carole's sweater, sobbing hysterically. "KK's dead! KK's dead!" she wailed. "Finn killed him!"

Kurt thumped his fist against Finn's back. "Put me down!" he insisted. Finn obliged, carefully placing Kurt on his feet. "Emmy, precious, I'm fine. Finn just kicked me really hard on accident. But I'm fine."

Emily sniffled noisily, wiping her eyes with one of her stuffed bunny's ears. "You're not dead?" she gulped.

"I have a bruise the size of Wisconsin forming, but I'm fine," he promised. He took a step towards the door and crumpled a little, catching himself on the glass door. "Ow. Ow ow ow. Finn?"

"I'm on it," Finn said cheerfully, scooping his younger brother up in his arms. "Emily, let's say we spend the rest of the afternoon watching movies on the couch with Kurt."

Emily brightened. "Okay!" she said. She hurried to keep up with Finn's long legs and tangled a small hand in one of his belt loops. "Movie time! Movie time! Movie time!"

"Kurt, I'll get you a bag of ice for your bruise," Carole said, patting his knee as Finn carried him over to the couch.

"You're an angel of mercy," Kurt sighed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I really wish Burt and Carole would have a surprise baby. Like...seriously. There needs to be a surprise oops baby goin' on.


	90. Never Been Kissed

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"…Mom?"<p>

Mollie smiled as she washed tempera paint off her hands. "Hi, sweetheart. I didn't know you coming by, I thought you had glee," she said. "Just give me a second and I'll-" She glanced over her shoulder and her smile faded. "Kurt? Kurt, what's wrong?"

Her sixteen-year-old son stood in the doorway of her art classroom, white as a sheet and shaking. "Mom, I…" Kurt started to say. His lips trembled. "Mom, something happened."

She took him by the arm and led him over to a chair. "What happened?" she asked, cupping his face in her hands and searching him carefully. "Baby, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Are you sick?"

He shook his head. "Karofsky," he whispered. "He…"

Mollie froze. She'd heard too many stories, tried not to think about any of the things that could happen to her child. _Not my son, _she thought. _Not my Kurt._

"What happened, my love?" she asked, struggling to keep her voice calm.

"He kissed me."

Kurt's face crumpled. Mollie pulled him into a fierce hug. "It's going to be okay, sweetheart," she said. He gripped onto her sleeves, his knuckles white. "It's going to be okay. I promise. Dad and I will make this okay."

"You can't tell Dad!" Kurt said, pulling back and shaking his head. "He just got out of the hospital. This would kill him. It would just…just…"

She kissed the top of his head. "Don't worry, Kurt," she said firmly. "Let's go home, okay? Let's go home."

He nodded, clumsily drying his tears with the back of his hand. Mollie smiled at him as she smoothed his hair. "You're going to be fine, KK," she said.

He sort of smiled back, pale and uncertain. Mollie swallowed hard. _You can't cry yet, _she told herself. _You can cry for him later._

She pinched him softly on the arm. "Get my bag, okay? I just have to finish putting the paints up," she said.

Kurt nodded and reached for her monogrammed tote bag, then paused and pulled his phone out of his back pocket. He smiled faintly, his lips quirking up at the sight of the screen, then started to type out a text message.

Mollie tugged on her earlobe. _What could possibly make him smile again so soon? _she thought.

He was so engrossed in his text that he didn't notice her peeking over his shoulder. "Who's Blaine?" she inquired.

Her son abruptly straightened, his cheeks flushing pink. "A friend," he stammered, clutching the phone to his chest. "I told him what happened…he's very encouraging."

"I see," Mollie said. She slipped an arm around his waist and hugged him lightly. "How about you tell me about this Blaine while I make dinner. I'll make salmon and baked potatoes, hm? One of your favorites, and it's healthy, so you won't have to freak out about Dad's eating habits."

Kurt's cheeks were still pink. "There's really nothing to say about Blaine," he said. "He's just an…acquaintance."

"Mm-hm," Mollie said. "Of course."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Really, why can't his mother be alive? _Really. _Things would have been so much easier on the poor kid.


	91. Blaine Meets Mollie

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine knocked lightly outside Kurt's new dorm room and waited patiently. No one answered, so he knocked again.<p>

"Can I help you?"

He glanced up to see a petite woman standing in the hallway behind him, a brown cardboard moving box balanced on her hip. She was dressed in skinny jeans, ballet flats, and a button-up shirt, and her long light brown hair was drawn back in a loose wavy ponytail. There was something unsettlingly familiar about the way she tilted her head to the side and anticipated his answer.

He cleared his throat. "Um, yes," he said. "I'm just waiting for a friend. He's moving into Dalton tonight…I just thought I would stop by and see if he needed help getting settled."

The woman smiled, her blue eyes lighting up. "You must be Blaine," she said. She shifted the box and held out her hand. "I'm Mollie, Kurt's mother."

He shook her small hand carefully. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Hummel," he said politely.

"Please, honey, call me Mollie," she said. She bumped the door open with her hip and ushered him inside. "Kurt and his dad are getting the last box out of the truck. Come on in."

He followed her into Kurt's room and she flicked on the light. Already the room looked stylish yet homey- a pinstriped comforter with coordinating pillows spread across the bed, neatly hung clothes sorted by style and color in the closet, bottles and knickknacks arranged tidily across the dress. Mollie set the box down on the bed. "Can you get those sticky hooks out of the desk drawer, please?" she said.

He pulled out a package and handed them to her. "His room looks great," he commented.

Mollie stuck a small hook on the wall. "We wanted it to feel like home for him," she said. "I think it's the first time that Burt didn't blow a gasket at Kurt's credit card bill." She picked a framed photograph out of the box and hung it up. "Then again, I was the one who told him to pick out whatever he wanted."

Blaine watched her hang the photographs in a smooth rhythm- stick up a hook, pick up a picture, hang it carefully. "I'm sorry he had to come to Dalton under…these circumstances," he said.

"You and me both," she said softly.

Blaine surveyed the row of pictures- all photos of Kurt at various ages, with his mother or father or friends. "I'm going to do everything I can to help him," he offered.

"I appreciate that," she said. "I'm so glad you two are friends. It makes this whole…whole situation easier to bear."

The door swung open. "Mom, we've got the last box," Kurt called. "Dad's moving the truck." He set the box down on the floor and straightened. "Oh. Hi, Blaine."

"Hi," Blaine said. He smiled. Kurt was adorably disheveled, his hair ruffled and his tee shirt rumpled around his waist. "You're almost completely settled."

"My mom's just good at unpacking," he said.

Mollie smiled and reached over to smooth Kurt's hair into place. "I just want you to feel like you're at home," she said.

The color drained further from Kurt's face. "Mom…"

Mollie hugged him tightly and rubbed his back. "Say it with me, KK. Home on weekends. Home on weekends."

"Home on weekends," Kurt mumbled into her shoulder.

"You just worry about adjusting to your new school and singing with your new friends," Mollie said, kissing the side of his head. "I'll take care of Daddy. Don't worry about anything."

"I'll try," Kurt said.

Mollie pulled back a little bit, smiling at him. "And besides, sweetheart, you have Blaine. He's going to help you," she said.

"I'll do my best," Blaine said fervently, and Kurt smiled just a little.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I have a confession. When people prompt anything about Mollie, I HAVE TO WRITE IT. You don't even understand. Writing anything about Mollie Melrose Hummel is my biggest weakness. It's like...authorly kryptonite.

And just think about how much easier Kurt's life would have been if his mommy was alive. It wouldn't have been quite so painful and scary for him to come out, she would've been so excited about him becoming a Cheerio, she would've taken care of him while Burt was in the hospital, and once she dragged out the truth about Karofsky and the kiss and the bullying (because she would've noticed her baby getting quieter and thinner and wincing when she hugged him goodnight) she would've _shut that shit down. _

Ugh. Now I'm going to cry.

But if you ever want to prompt a drabble of any kind, drop it in my tumblr askbox! My tumblr screenname is redbullandcupcakebatter.

And if you want to read more drabbles, especially if you're fond of impeccably written AUs, then I HIGHLY recommend my sweet friend Meg! Her tumblr is kivrinengle and her name on this site is Kivrin (she's also in my favorite authors list) and her writing is amazing and gorgeous. And she just returned to writing after a long hiatus, so welcome her back with enthusiasm and love, because she's a phenomenal writer and one of my favorite people (online and in real life)!

(And maybe with enough encouragement, her muse for the All Strange Wonders 'verse will return and he can finish Ten Thousand Remembrances...I'm just saying, that's my favorite verse like EVER.)


	92. Big Sister to the Rescue

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Fraaaaaaaancey."<p>

Francey ignored her baby brother's plaintive call down the hall and focused the adventures of her dollhouse family. Teen sister Maria was currently sneaking out of the house in her pink plastic convertible, and younger sister Michelle was about to tattle to their parents.

"Fraaaaaaaaaaaaaancey."

Francey rolled her eyes. The babysitter would take care of it. As long as she wasn't sitting on the couch talking to her boyfriend on the phone again.

"Francey?"

She made little sister Michelle hop down the dollhouse stairs. Maria was about to try to climb in the back window, but tiny little feet pattered into Francey's bedroom, interrupting her playtime.

"Franney?"

She glanced up to see her little brother standing in the doorway with his pajama shirt tangled around his head. Only a few tufts of dark hair peeped through the neck hole. "Franney, I stuck," Blaine sighed, his small voice muffled.

Francey scrambled to her feet. "Blaine, can't you dress yourself?" she said, exasperated. She tugged on the shirt.

"But…I am _two_," Blaine said, perplexed.

Francey pulled the shirt down, revealing Blaine's happy flushed face. "There," she said, tugging it down to cover his little belly. "Now you're ready for bed."

"T'ank you," he said. His eyes lit up at the sight of the dollhouse. "Ooh! I can play? I can play?"

Francey sighed. "You can be the twins," she said, dropping the twin baby dolls in his chubby hands.

"Yay!" Blaine said. He waved the dolls above his head. "I'm the baby! I'm the baby!" He threw the dolls in the air. "Yay!"

"No! That's the wrong way to play! Out of my room!" Francey screamed. "You're dumb!"

She pushed him out of her bedroom. Blaine stared up at her, eyes huge. "But…I am the baby," he said. He tugged on the sleeve of her nightgown. "Sorry?"

Francey scowled. "Stop throwing things," she scolded.

"Okay."

"And no jumping on my bed."

"Okay."

"And no climbing on my dresser."

"…okay."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Even as a baby, Blaine was throwing things in the air and jumping in the furniture.


	93. Sick Furt Cuddles

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"I don't feel good," Kurt mumbled, leaning his hot cheek against the cool window of the bus.<p>

Finn rubbed his shoulder. "I know, but we'll be home soon," he said.

Kurt sniffled hard, rubbing his already brilliantly pink nose. "I can't believe I got a cold," he rasped.

"You sounded pretty good still," Finn offered. Kurt rolled his eyes and sneezed loudly. Finn sighed. The glee club's weekend trip to the Ohio Valley Choral Festival had gone pretty well, all things considered, but wandering around Dayton in the snow for three days without enough sleep had obviously taken its toll on Kurt, who had snored loudly for part of the trip back and had barely been able to sip at the hot tea he got when they stopped for lunch.

"I just want to go home and go to bed," Kurt said, thumping his forehead against the window. "I'm so tired. And I can't breathe, Finn. I can't breathe."

"I know," Finn said helplessly. He rubbed Kurt's back. "You're going to be okay, I promise. We'll get home and get you medicine and Mom will make you some soup."

"I don't want soup," Kurt grumped, still banging his head against the window. "I can't swallow. It hurts."

Finn sighed and tugged Kurt back by the collar of his jacket. "Stop that," he said. He pulled Kurt upright and touched the back of his hand to his forehead. "Geez, you're hot."

"I don't feel good!" Kurt burst out. "I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed and…and…"

Kurt slumped forward, pressing his cheek against Finn's chest. Startled, Finn started to push him back, but Kurt snuggled into him, rubbing his hot cheek against the front of his shirt. Finn sighed. "Go to sleep, bud," he said, smoothing Kurt's untidy hair. "I'll wake you up when we get home."

Kurt slept restlessly for the rest of the trip home, snoring noisily for most of it. By the time the bus pulled off the interstate at Lima's exit, Kurt was somehow curled up cozily in Finn's lap, one hand balled tightly in the fabric of his shirt.

For a moment Finn wondered if he could manage to slide Kurt off of his knees and back onto his own seat without waking him, but Kurt whimpered, the sound thick from congestion, and curled up tighter against him, still shivering. Finn smiled to himself and pulled his brother in for a cuddle.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I love Furt. I love Furt so much.

Finn's just a big ol' eager kid who just wants to take care of his baby brother. And Kurt likes to pretend that he can do everything all by himself, but he really just wants to be loved.

I was going to make a Strongbad joke about Liddle Bruddah, but...I'm too tired.


	94. Breakups

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Hey, guess who's home?" Francey singsonged as she slammed the front door. "It's me! Your favorite Francey!"<p>

She sashayed into the kitchen. "Aren't you happy to see me? I'm-"

She halted. Her younger brother sat at the kitchen table dressed in shabby plaid pajamas and glasses, with a book propped up on the napkin holder and a large bowl of pasta in front of him. "Oh, god, no, not the emergency pasta."

Blaine froze, the linguine-laden fork halfway to his lips. "Uh…hi, Francey," he said. "This is just…"

"You're depressed," Francey accused.

"But I'm just-"

She pointed dramatically to the bowl. "Carbs!" she shouted.

Blaine sighed and dropped his fork. "Can't I eat pasta in my pajamas without people freaking out on me?" he said.

"Not _that _much pasta, and not in _those _pajamas, and you're reading Narnia, and…oh, god, you're wearing your glasses," she said, folding her arms. "You've been crying, haven't you?" Blaine looked down at his pasta. Francey plopped down in the chair beside him. "Okay, babe. Spill."

Blaine mumbled something into his noodles.

"Can't hear you."

Blaine mumbled a little louder.

"Still can't hear you."

"Chad dumped me!" Blaine shouted.

Francey sat back. "Well, damn," she said. "No need to shout." She scooped up a little bit of pasta sauce with her fingertip and stuck it in her mouth. "Good riddance, though."

Blaine glared at her, then grabbed his pasta back and stomped towards the kitchen. "Gee, thanks a lot, Frances," he accused. "I always know I can count on you."

Francey sighed. "Wait, wait, come back," she said. "I'm sorry." Blaine paused. "Look, babe, I'm sorry your boyfriend broke up with you, but he was an ass."

Blaine's shoulders slumped. "He _was _an ass," he agreed unhappily. "But he was my ass. I just wanted a boyfriend."

Francey tapped her fingers lightly against the table. "Babbie, I'm going to be real honest," she said. "Just because you meet a boy who's gay…it doesn't mean you need to date him. You'd be happier single than with the wrong person."

"Says the girl who's gone through so many boyfriends I can't keep them straight," Blaine retorted.

Francey raised a hand. "Hear me out," she said quietly. "I don't date anybody seriously. I go out with a guy a few times, and if it doesn't feel right, then I don't need to make him a major part of my life. I can move on. You…you started dating Chad, and it was like you were fucking married."

Blaine opened his mouth to argue. "That's what you want, Blaine. You want to find that one person and be done. You want to feel completely secure and loved and cared for, and have someone that you can lavish with all your love and attention. You want the high school sweetheart who gives you his class ring and varsity jacket, you want the college boyfriend who'll never leave you, you want a diamond ring and a white wedding and a house with a picket fence."

She reached over and took his hands. "But honey, you keep going after these piece of shit assholes, and you're not going to get anything but a broken heart." She brushed an about-to-escape tear from the corner of his eye. "Have some standards, Blaine."

"But I'll never find anyone like that," he said. "It's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible," she said. "Keep looking, babe. Just keep looking. You'll find him."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Somehow I got it into my personal headcanon that Blaine has a history of settling for douchebags, just because they were there and getting into a relationship with them would be easy and he was lonely. (Hence, the Jeremiah situation.) And also that one of his exes is named Chad Dinkleberg.

(Yes, like in Fairly OddParents. It's always the Dinklebergs.)

Related: I like cartoons.

Also, I think the only person who ships Klaine more than Puck is Frances Meghan Anderson. She loves Kurt and he makes her baby brother happy and she will cut anyone who gets in the way of Klaine.


	95. Kurt's First Kiss

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>The front door slammed. "I'm home!" Kurt called.<p>

"I figured," Mollie called back. "I'm in the kitchen, baby."

Her son waltzed into the kitchen as he shrugged out of his Dalton blazer. Mollie did a doubletake. _Why is he waltzing? _she thought.

"Hi, Mom," Kurt beamed, pausing to drop a light kiss on her cheek. "Do you need any help with anything? I can help."

"We're not doing anything fancy for dinner," Mollie said. "You can set the table. And you can put the salad together when Dad comes home."

"Okay," Kurt said, dreamy and noncommittal. He sashayed over to the silverware drawer and plucked out three forks.

Mollie studied him carefully. She had always known that Kurt was a beautiful child (and she knew that it wasn't just that she was his mother and painfully biased), but there was something unusually striking about him today. His cheeks were flushed pink and rosy and his eyes were sparkling. Something must've happened to make him this deliriously happy.

Kurt hummed lightly as he dropped the forks around the table. "You're in a good mood, KK," she commented.

"Mm-hm," he said absently.

Mollie frowned. "How did Warblers rehearsal go?" she asked.

"Fine."

"How were your classes?"

"Fine."

"How's Blaine?"

Kurt's cheeks turned brilliant red, the color creeping up to his ears. "Fine," he squeaked.

Mollie set the lid down on the stockpot. "Something's up," she said.

"Nothing's up!" Kurt protested, his cheeks still red and his eyes still shining.

"Don't tell me that, Kurt Hummel," Mollie warned, half-teasing. "You tell me what's going on right now. Spill."

"You have to promise not to freak out," Kurt said. "Or tell Dad."

"Just tell me," she said.

Kurt clasped a handful of spoons to his chest. "He kissed me," he said.

A million emotions clashed at once. _You're too young to be kissing, go play in the sandbox! _she wanted to say, but then _your first kiss! Your first kiss!_

There had been some dark days when she doubted he would ever get to experience that joy.

Suddenly she remembered just a few short months ago when he stumbled into her classroom during school, pale and shaking and holding back tears because some jackass forced a kiss on him in a locker room. Now he was smiling at her so wide she could see his teeth, his eyes squinched up happily in the corners and a blush staining his cheeks.

"Mom?" Kurt ventured, his fingertips beginning to twist together anxiously. "Can you say something?"

Mollie swallowed the lump in her throat. "Oh, sweet boy, I'm so happy for you," she said.

Kurt let out a happy little squeal and flung himself in her arms. Mollie hugged him so fiercely her arms ached, mentally thanking the boy who brought the joy back in her son's eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I'm just going to roll around in the happy Kurt and Blaine and Mollie feels for a while, if you don't mind.


	96. Lucy's Brothers

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"I'm here!" Lucy called. "Sorry I'm late!"<p>

"It's fine," Kurt called back. "Come right on up. I've got your dress ready for you."

He anxiously checked the taffeta gown over before hanging it behind the changing screen. It had seemed like a no-brainer to design and construct Lucy's wedding dress, but it had definitely been a larger project than he had thought. If it wasn't perfect, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

"Oh…and I brought a few people with me."

"Sure, sure, bring them in too," Kurt called absently. He turned around, expecting Jo and perhaps a bridesmaid or two, but no. All six of the Trevelyan brothers filed into the room after their petite sister, all of them tall and lanky and either redheaded or blond.

_And all quite capable of killing me if I ruin their sister's wedding dress, _Kurt realized.

"Sorry, they all just really wanted to see the dress," Lucy apologized. "I couldn't get them to stay home."

"Um…well, this is the second-to-last fitting, so it's not _quite _perfect yet," Kurt hedged, twiddling his fingers.

Lucy waved her hand. "Oh, it's fine, it's fine," she said. "I told them. Can I put it on?"

"Sure, it's right over there," Kurt said. "Call me when you need me."

Lucy disappeared behind the changing screen. Kurt smiled awkwardly at the six brothers, who were standing awkwardly by the door. "Hello," he said. "You can…take a seat if you'd like."

"We're fine," Riley said. Or was that Gabriel? He couldn't tell them apart.

Kurt fiddled with the various sewing knickknacks on his work table until Lucy finally called for him. He hightailed it behind the screen. "Your brothers scare me," he hissed in her ear as he pulled up the zipper of her wedding dress.

"Don't be a pansy. They're all sweethearts," she said.

"Yes, to _you_," Kurt whispered. "If I mess up your dress, they're going to kill me."

"I won't let them," Lucy promised. "Besides, it's beautiful." She gathered up her full ball gown skirt and rustled out from behind the screen. "So this is it!"

"Oh my god, Lu, you're so pretty!" Toby exclaimed.

"Louisa, you look stunning," Sean said.

Lucy beamed. "I feel like a princess," she said proudly.

Kurt smiled to himself. _Maybe I should go into wedding design after all, _he thought as Lucy's brothers all bent to kiss her and tell her how pretty she was. _Look how happy everyone is._

"Kurt, I'm not sure I like the neckline of this dress," Tierney- or was it Thomas?- said with a frown. "I think it would look better with a sweetheart neckline. It would suit her better."

"And what kind of bustle are you doing? I know Lucy said it would probably be a French bustle, but I think a royal would be better…I did some research online…"

"Beadwork? There's going to be beadwork, right?"

_Oh, god_, Kurt thought. _I'm never going into professional wedding design._

* * *

><p><em><em>**Author's Notes:**

**** I can't say no when people request drabbles with Kurt and Lucy love. They're just so sweet and precious and lovable.

And this request involved Lucy's brothers, of which she has six. Three older, and three younger. She's the only girl and tiny and they protect her zealously.

(Thankfully, her wedding dress turned out lovely. Although I haven't decided who I ship Lucy with- David, Finn, or a character I have planned but actually haven't introduced!)

I just really love Lurty, you guys.


	97. catch me around here

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>He fell asleep at the wheel.<p>

That was all it took.

He should have known how tired he was. Should have noticed the bags under his eyes, the way his shoulders slumped when he thought no one looking, how he picked at his food and dozed off in the middle of homework assignments.

If only he had noticed. Maybe told him to skip a day at that damn prep school, or made him sleep in on a Saturday morning instead of bringing him into the garage.

Too late for that.

Burt sat on the edge of the bed, still unmade like it had been four days ago when his son woke up late for school, hurried out the door, and never came home. He clutched a blanket in his hands, a stupid soft quilt with ragged edges and charmingly crooked embroidery in the corner.

_Kurt Elijah Hummel, April 17, 1994_

Sixteen years ago his wife stitched those tiny letters in the corner of that blanket. They had swaddled their tiny precious son in it when they took him home from the hospital, they tucked it around him at night when he fell asleep, he wrapped it around his motherless child the night they buried Mollie.

He had already buried his wife. He never thought he'd bury his baby too.

The door tapped open. Carole peeked in. "Burt?" she ventured. "We have to go. It's time for the service."

He stood up slowly, painfully, wordlessly, the blanket still clutched tight in his hands. It felt like he had aged a decade in the past four days. Or maybe it all happened at once the night the officer knocked on his door.

They drove to the church in silence, Carole tangling her fingers together and Finn staring blankly from red-rimmed eyes, his forehead pressed against the window. He supposed his son would be put out by having the wake at a church, but it seemed fitting. Mollie went into labor in that church, after all.

The sanctuary was silent but surprisingly full. Kurt's glee club friends and their families filled several rows; a few teachers joined them as well. Several boys with slicked back hair and stiffly knotted ties lingered awkwardly in the back- Dalton boys, most likely. And family came too, aunts and uncles and cousins.

He hadn't seen that many of them in one spot since Mollie died.

He couldn't bear to talk to them. Any of them. Thankfully they gave him a wide berth, leaving him alone in his stunned silence. He watched dully as they shuffled quietly past the open casket. The kid with a mohawk had to walk away with his hand over his eyes; the blonde cheerleader sobbed openly with her head on her dark-haired friend's shoulder.

"Mr. Hummel?"

He glanced up to see a brunet boy in a dark sweater standing in front of him, hands knotted tightly together. "I'm Blaine," he said, soft and husky. "I'm a…I was a friend of Kurt's. At Dalton."

Burt could only nod. He vaguely recognized the kid, remembered his son talking about him.

"Kurt is…was one of the most moral and compassionate people I've ever known," Blaine said. "He's so smart, and sweet, and so talented, and…"

The boy's eyes welled up. Burt nodded, patting Blaine's arm in a lame attempt at comfort. Blaine dashed at his damp eyes. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel," he choked. "I'm so sorry. I…" He swallowed hard. "I'm so sorry."

Burt nodded again, squeezing Blaine's arm. He stood up and left the boy behind, walking towards the casket with the blanket still clutched in his hand.

His sixteen-year-old son- forever sixteen now- lay still and quiet, dressed in the suit he'd worn for the wedding only a few months earlier, his perfect face white and his soft brown hair brushed smoothly. Burt unfolded the blanket, his throat tight but his eyes dry. He tucked the blanket snugly around his child like he had done a thousand times before, taking it for granted every time.

"Bye, kiddo," he murmured, cupping his precious son's cheek in his broad hand one last time. "Daddy loves you. Say hi to your mom for me."

Burt bent to kiss his son's cold forehead, and the last remaining shards of his heart broke.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

_saddest AU i have ever written why am I doing this augh I need to go write something about fluffy bunnies or I'm going to die..._too much angst the end.


	98. Let It Snow

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Why are you so happy?" Blaine groused.<p>

"Because it's _winter,_" Kurt said happily, hugging his textbooks to his chest. "Why are you unhappy?"

"Because it's winter," Blaine sulked.

Kurt nudged his shoulder lightly. "Winter is amazing," he said. "Hot chocolate…cozy firesides…chunky sweaters…"

"Dirty snow, bad traffic, neverending colds," Blaine added. "I just want my summertime back."

He scowled down at the sidewalk as they walked towards the Lima Bean. Kurt smiled and hurried to catch up with him, tucking his mittened hand snugly into Blaine's gloved one. "Oh, the weather outside is frightful, and the fire is so delightful," he sang, nuzzling his cold nose against Blaine's warm cheek.

Blaine smiled and squeezed his hand. Kurt snuck a peck on his cheek and swung their clasped hands between them. "And since we've no place to go-"

"-let it snow, let it snow, let it snow," Blaine sang back, despite himself. He grinned and kissed the tip of Kurt's nose. "You're adorable."

"I do try," Kurt admitted.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Hopefully this will make up for the last chapter...


	99. Mother's Day

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Before it happened, Miss Collins had been excited about her first teaching opportunity. She had just graduated with her shiny new teaching degree in her hand, and mere days later received a call from Roosevelt Elementary that their art teacher couldn't finish out the last few weeks of the school year, and could she fill in?<p>

Well, of _course _she could.

So now she stood at the front of the classroom, hands clasped together, happily surveying the tiny second graders filing obediently to their tables. How small! How cute! Such sweet little minds for her to shape and encourage and mold.

After writing her name across the whiteboard in firm clear cursive, she turned to her students. "Now, class, since Mother's Day is on Sunday, I thought we could all make pretty Mother's Day cards," she chirped. "I've put some clean paper and fresh markers at all your seats. Let's draw some pictures, all right?"

The class settled down quickly and turned to their drawings. She turned on some soothing classical music and strolled up and down the rows, offering kind comments and handing them different colored markers. Some of them already showed genuine signs of talent; some of them just doodled.

One little boy, however, did nothing. He rested his pointed little chin in his hands and stared out the window, his blue-green eyes boring through the glass. His markers remained capped and his paper remained blank.

Miss Collins knelt beside him. "Sweetie, why haven't you drawn anything?" she asked.

"Don't want to," he said in a soft high voice.

"But everyone else is drawing," she supplied helpfully. "You don't want to be the only not drawing, do you?"

"I don't care," he said.

Miss Collins bit her lip. Time to pull out the big guns. "But honey, don't you think your mommy would be sad if you don't bring her a card on Mother's Day?" she suggested.

The little boy shook his head fiercely.

"But your mommy would be so sad!" Miss Collins said. "I bet she'll just love it if you bring her home a pretty card that you drew all by yourself. Doesn't she put your drawings up on the refrigerator?"

The child's eyes welled up with tears and he shook his head more emphatically. "No," he said. "No, no, no."

"But your mommy-"

"No!" the little boy screamed. He pushed the markers off the table. "No!"

"That is very bad behavior," Miss Collins said. "Do you need to be in timeout?"

The little boy screamed again, crunching his blank paper in his hands and throwing it on the ground like a lopsided snowball. Twelve little heads swerved to stare at him. "Class, don't worry about it, god back to work," Miss Collins said.

"But Miss Collins-" a little brunette girl in a kitten sweater started to object.

"You're being very naughty," Miss Collins warned. She took the little boy by the arm and pulled him back. "Do we need to tell your parents that you got in trouble today?"

The little boy was screaming at this point, big tears running down his cheeks. His face had gone red with exertion. The teacher from next door popped her head in. "Any problems in here?" she asked.

"Someone decided to throw a temper tantrum," Miss Collins said sharply, giving the child a small shake. "He doesn't want to make a Mother's Day card for his mother."

To her surprise, the teacher's face fell. "Oh, no. Poor baby," she said. She walked over to the little boy and took him by the hand. "Kurt? Sweetheart? Do you want to come sit with me for a little bit? We can call your daddy to come get you."

Kurt nodded, still sobbing loudly. The other teacher squeezed his tiny hand and walked him out of the classroom. Miss Collins gaped, flabbergasted, then turned back to her other students. "Keep working," she said. "Don't let Kurt's bad behavior distract you."

"But Kurt isn't-" the little brunette tried to interrupt again.

Miss Collins clapped her hands. "I want to see lots of lovely drawings by the time class is over," she said.

Sure enough, by the time the bell rang, every little second grader had completed a lovely card to take to their mother. She lined them all up at the door and walked them back to their classroom, silently vowing to keep calm with her next class of elementary schoolers.

They had all been safely returned to their teacher and she was heading to the office when she nearly bumped into a broad-shouldered man in a denim jacket and a trucker hat. He held a child in his arms, and with a start she recognized her little tantrum-thrower. Such a pity. He was so cute and delicate too; he could have been her class favorite.

"Kurt, I see your daddy had to come get you," she said, taking care to put a stern note in her voice.

Kurt's father turned around. "Oh, yeah, he cried himself out," he said, patting Kurt's back. Sure enough, the pretty child was fast asleep with his tearstained cheek pillowed against his father's shirt.

"Well, I hope tomorrow goes better," Miss Collins said. "Tell him he can have another chance to make a nice Mother's Day card."

Kurt's father flinched, then looked her up and down. "You're the substitute art teacher?" he said, his voice suddenly growing cold.

"Yes, sir," Miss Collins said. "Mrs. Hummel isn't teaching art anymore at Roosevelt. I'm finishing out the year."

The man's mouth set in a firm, grim line. "Did they tell you why she's not here?" he asked.

She twisted her fingers together. "Well, no, but I-"

"She died," he said bluntly. "It was unexpected."

"Oh," Miss Collins said. "Oh. Well, I'm sorry, Mr.-"

"Hummel," he finished.

The last piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

"Oh my god," Miss Collins gasped. "Oh my god. I didn't…was she-"

"We lost Kurt's mom two weeks ago," Mr. Hummel said. He rubbed Kurt's back; the sleeping child snuggled closer, arms around his neck and his cheek tucked snugly in the crook of his shoulder. "I thought this little guy was doing okay, but…he's not."

"Mr. Hummel, I didn't-"

"I think Kurt's going stay home with me for the rest of the school year," Mr. Hummel said. "There's only a few weeks left. And I don't want him out of my sight."

Mr. Hummel walked away, his heavy work shoes clumping on the glossy tiled floor. Kurt slept heavily in his arms, limp and exhausted from crying. Miss Collins watched them leave, unable to speak.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

That poor precious baby.

I feel like, even at eight, Kurt would have tried to be tough about his mother's death, for his daddy's sake. But he's just a baby. My creys.

Also, this is my 99th Tumbled chapter! Tomorrow will be a hundred! Huzzah!

I still have 300+ prompts left to fill. Oy veh.


	100. Overprotective

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Hey, Kurt's Mom," Francey said cheerfully, sauntering into the Hummel house without waiting for Mollie to welcome her in. "I was just passing by. I had a thing…um, I borrowed a…tool…a hammer…from your husband…"<p>

Mollie smirked. "You just want to know if the boys are back from prom yet," she said.

"Oh, come off it, Miss Mollie, you're waiting too," Francey accused.

She sighed. "The suspense is killing me," she said, sinking down into her armchair and tucking her legs underneath her. "Don't you think they should be back by now?"

Francey shrugged and plopped down on the couch. "No clue," she said. "Probably. Unless of course they're-"

"No," Mollie said firmly. "No. My baby is _not _losing his virginity on prom night. God, I'd hoped he'd learn at least something from my choices." She sighed and rubbed her temples. "But I at least put a condom in his back pocket before he left. Either he'll be safe…or he'll be so embarrassed by his mother giving him a condom he can't bring himself to go through with it."

Francey laughed. "I bought a box and a bottle of lube for Blaine, and he turned so red I thought he was going to pop," she said. The merriment died in her eyes and her mouth drew down. "I was going to hide some in his pockets anyway, but…they were full. Tissues, an ice pack, rolled gauze…"

"He's scared," Mollie said quietly.

Francey rested her chin in her hands. "He hasn't gone to a dance since then," she said. "Any school event other a concert, actually." She rubbed the back of her neck. "I still have nightmares about him staggering into the middle of the gym, bloody and sobbing and…" She bit her lip. "God, if that happens again, I'm going to fucking kill someone."

Mollie squeezed Francey's knee. "I'm sure the boys are fine," she said. "They're strong. And they have each other."

"I hope they're fine," Francey said fervently.

The front door banged open. "Kurt, wait! Kurt!"

"I don't want to talk about it!"

"But you just-"

The two teenage boys in question ran into the living room and staggered to a halt; Kurt stopped so quickly that Blaine ran into his shoulder. Mollie sat up, studying her son carefully- white face, blazing eyes, rumpled clothing. A thousand questions burst in her thoughts and she tried to narrow it down to one perfectly phrased query.

"What the fuck is wrong with you two?" Francey demanded.

Blaine bit his lip. "Kurt was-"

"I told you, I didn't want to tell my parents!" Kurt burst out, and he fled from the room.

Mollie whipped around to glare at Blaine. "What happened?" she demanded.

Blaine shrank under her gaze. "They voted him prom queen," he said in a tiny voice.

The basement door slammed so loudly it echoed. "Oh god," Francey said, covering her hand with her mouth. "Oh god…"

"I didn't…I tried…" Blaine stammered. He took a deep shuddering breath. "I'm sorry, I-"

His face crumpled. Mollie nudged him towards his sister. "I'll take care of Kurt," she said, and she hurried down the stairs.

She rounded the landing into Kurt's basement bedroom and ducked before one of her son's Doc Martens could slam her in the head. He was undressing in a hurry, stripping off his meticulously crafted suit and throwing it on the ground.

"Kurt," she said, picking up the boot and setting it down by the wall.

"I can't," he said through his teeth. "I won't. I won't go through this. Not again."

"Kurt," she repeated.

"I told him not to tell you!" he shouted, kicking viciously at his vanity and knocking over half the bottles across the counter and onto the floor. "He wasn't supposed to!"

"_Kurt!_"

He stumbled round to face her, mouth dropping open. All of the injured pride and anger drained away from him and his shoulders drooped. Suddenly he was no longer a furious young man in a sharp suit, but her own little boy again, his hair ruffled and his undershirt crooked across his chest.

"Mom," Kurt said desperately. "_Why_?"

She didn't have an answer for him. Instead, she quietly held out her arms and he stumbled towards her, bursting into silent tears. Mollie cradled Kurt in her arms like she did when he was a child, rubbing his back firmly and pressing soft airy kisses into his hair. He was tall now, so tall that he had to bend almost in half to drop his cheek against her shoulder, but he was still her baby. He would always be her baby.

"I'm so sorry, KK," she murmured.

"I tried, Mom," he sobbed into her shoulder. "I went back in there, and they crowned me, and I danced with Blaine in front of everybody, but I…I don't…why would they do this to me?"

She kissed his cheek. "I don't know," she said, her throat tightening. "I don't know, lovey, but I'm so sorry."

He cried quietly into her shoulder for a little, her heart breaking with every tear seeping into the fabric of her dress. She waited for him to quiet, till his tears stilled to soft hitched breaths. "Put your pajamas on, sweet," she said, rubbing his slender back. "I'll make some warm milk, and you can tell me about the good things that happened." She smoothed his hair. "And don't worry about Dad. I'll take care of it, okay?"

He nodded meekly, drying his tearstained face with the hem of his undershirt. She gave him one last smile and pat on the cheek, then headed back up the stairs.

The Anderson siblings were curled up tightly on the couch. Blaine's jacket, tie, and shoes were strewn about the living room; he seemed younger than seventeen in his wrinkled pants and tee shirt. Francey was stroking her fingertips up and down his spine.

"I'm going to make some warm milk for Kurt," Mollie said softly. "Anybody want anything?"

Francey rubbed her cheek against her brother's curls. "God, if you have anything vodka related, I'll fucking drink it all," she said.

"We've got whiskey," Mollie said wryly.

"That'll do."

Kurt trudged up the stairs into the living room, red-eyed and pale. He offered a faint smile.

Blaine was off the couch in an instant. He cupped Kurt's face in his hands, searching him carefully, and Kurt nodded. Blaine pulled him in a tight warm hug, one hand splayed broad across Kurt's shoulder blades and the other arm wrapped securely around his waist. Kurt nuzzled his cheek against Blaine's shoulder and he closed his eyes with a soft sigh of contentment.

Mollie lingered for a moment, watching this boy comfort her son without words, then turned around quietly towards the kitchen.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

HEY LOOK HERE I AM!

Whew! Mini-hiatus there. :) My birthday was on Tuesday (I'm now 25! What is this madness? I'm old and should retire from fanfiction...) and things have been super crazy. I've also been recently cast in a show, so I've been in rehearsals lately.

AND LOOK! WE'VE REACHED THE 100TH CHAPTER!

This is not really all that impressive, because I'm up to about 180 in my drabbles folder on my computer, but hey! A milestone is a milestone.

And remember! I'm on Tumblr as redbullandcupcakebatter, and if you have any drabbles you'd like me to write, just leave me an ask!


	101. Future Fears

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Blaine waited patiently at the front door until Carole finally answered. "Hi, Mrs. H," he said. "I know it's rude to show up without warning, but I haven't been able to get ahold of Kurt since school on Friday. I was-"<p>

"A little worried?" Carole finished. She sighed heavily. "We haven't been able to get him out of his room all weekend." She opened the door and beckoned him. "Hopefully you can coax him out. Come on in."

Blaine stepped inside the house and unwound his scarf from his neck. "He hasn't come out at all?" he asked incredulously.

"We dragged him out for about twenty minutes' worth of Friday night dinner, but other than that we've been taking food up to his room and hoping he'll eat it," Carole said, taking his coat and hanging it over the rack by the door. "We're going have dinner in about an hour…if you can get him down here for that you'll be a miracle worker."

Blaine toed out of his shoes and left them neatly by the door. "I'll try," he said.

He climbed the stairs to Kurt's bedroom. Faint music was playing, but he couldn't hear Kurt singing along absently like he usually did. Blaine knocked lightly. "Kurt?" he called.

Kurt didn't answer, but he figured his boyfriend wouldn't mind, so he tapped the door open. He had to swallow a laugh at the sight he found. Kurt sat at his desk, one long leg tucked underneath him, but his cheek was pillowed on his arm, fast asleep.

Blaine surveyed the room. Dishes were piled up on the nightstand, the bed was unmade, and clothes were scattered on the floor. The only neat part of Kurt's bedroom was the line of precisely-stacked papers on his dresser. He glanced at the index cards labeling each pile.

_Ohio State. Eastern Kentucky. Columbia State. New York University. New York Academy of Dramatic Arts. Miami State._

Blaine started to reach for the NYADA pile. Kurt bolted upright. Blaine dropped the papers. "Oh god, fell asleep," Kurt mumbled, his reading glasses tumbling off his face and clattering onto his desk. "Oh god." He fumbled with the silver frames and slid them clumsily back on. "Oh god."

"Kurt?" Blaine ventured.

Kurt jumped, dropping a sheaf of handwritten notes that tumbled to the floor. "Oh my god!" he yelped. "When the hell did you get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago," Blaine said, surveying Kurt with amusement. His usually put-together boyfriend was definitely falling apart- his hair mussed, his cardigan sliding off his shoulders, his bare toes tangling in the hem of the too-long sport pants he'd clearly stolen from his brother's laundry basket. He sat down on the edge of Kurt's bed. "You wanna tell me what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Kurt said hastily, sitting up straight at his desk chair.

Blaine folded his arms. "You won't come out of your room," he said gently. "Which is a mess, by the way, and is incredibly out of the ordinary. You've barely eaten anything. And you haven't talked to me since school on Friday."

Kurt tucked one leg up and rested his chin on his knee. "I've been really busy," he said, his voice soft and his blue eyes owlishly round behind reading glasses.

"You've been stressing," Blaine said. "Talk to me."

Kurt raised and lowered one shoulder. "Just…stuff," he said.

"School applications."

Kurt looked down at the floor, his long lashes brushing the lenses of his glasses, and he twisted the long cuffs of his pants around his fingers. He said nothing.

Blaine took a deep breath. "Babe, I know you're worried about getting into college," he said. "Believe me, if I hadn't gotten held back my freshman year I'd be right there with you." He clasped his hands and leaned forward, craning for a better look into Kurt's brilliant eyes. "But you shouldn't be so nervous. Your grades are great, you'll ace any interview you're given, and you've got plenty of extracurriculars on your resume."

"I'm not scared about getting in," Kurt said. "I'm just…I don't know."

Blaine looked at the line of applications, info packets, and essays. "You're applying to every college you can think of," he said. "Community college, state school…in state, out of state. Why so many?"

Kurt shrugged again, then sighed and squared his shoulders. "I want options, Blaine," he said. "I need to get into as many schools as possible, so when it's time to go to college I'll have plenty of opportunities. A lot can change in a year."

He could tell by the way that Kurt clenched his jaw and lifted his chin that he was upset. Blaine sent up a silent prayer that the right words would come out of his mouth. "But you want to go _here_," Blaine said, picking up the NYADA application.

Kurt's lips trembled. "There's no guarantee, Blaine," he said. "I'm up against hundreds of other people. And…and it doesn't matter if I'm talented or not, it matters if I'm what they're looking for. And if I'm not what they're looking for, then…then I don't know what to do."

"If you don't get it in, then you don't get in," Blaine said. "And sure, it's smart to have a backup college in mind. But you're applying to schools you don't want to attend, even as a backup. Miami State? And I know you don't want to go to community college."

Kurt curled into himself, cheek against his kneecap. "But what if-" he started to say.

Blaine beckoned him forward. Kurt unfolded his long legs from the chair and shuffled towards him. Blaine cupped his hands on the backs of Kurt's thighs and tugged him till he was standing between his knees; Kurt rested his hands on Blaine's shoulders. "This is your life," he reminded him. "You should only apply to colleges you want to go to. It doesn't matter if you get into NYADA, or you don't, or you go to some other school, or even if you decide to delay school and…I don't know, pursue an acting career. Or become a hobo. Your dad will still love you and be here for you. And Carole, and Finn. And me."

And that's when Kurt's eyes welled up.

Blaine swallowed hard. This was the exact opposite reaction he'd expected for his little pep talk. "Hey," he said, squeezing Kurt's thighs. "Hey, hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"What if I _don't _have you?" Kurt burst out. "Blaine, we have to be realistic. High school sweethearts don't stay together. I'm going to go off to college, and you're going to stay here, and we're going to date by…by _Skype, _Blaine, and phone calls, and winter break, and…and…"

Blaine tugged Kurt's reading glasses off and set them aside on the bed. Kurt immediately covered his face with his hands, pressing his hands against the sides of his nose. "You're thinking too far ahead," Blaine said gently. "Way, _way _too far ahead." Kurt nodded, his face still obscuring most of his face. "We've got so much time before that. Your senior year, and our first dating anniversary, and another try at prom."

Kurt smiled a little bit, his eyes squinching up in the corners just the slightest. Blaine rubbed the backs of his legs. "If we grow apart, then we grow apart," he said softly. "Maybe we're not meant to be. But you can't be so scared of losing me that you stop making decisions based on what's best for you. You'll lose what makes you so special."

Kurt took a deep breath and nodded again, his hands still covering most of his face. Blaine smiled. "And maybe we'll be that one couple that does stay together," he said. "You'll wear my class ring, and I'll wear your varsity jacket. We'll live in a crappy studio apartment that we complain is too small and too drafty and nothing works, but we'll love it because we're together. We'll graduate and get jobs and buy a fixer-upper townhouse. And one day we'll come back to our McKinley reunion with wedding rings on our hands and a million pictures of our kids in our wallets."

Kurt finally laughed, faint but steady, and rubbed his eyes. "God, you always know what to say," he sighed, dropping his hands.

Blaine grinned and wiggled Kurt a little, his hands warm on his thighs. "I'm pretty charming when I want to be," he said. He wrapped his arms around Kurt's waist and flopped backwards on the bed, dragging Kurt with him. His boyfriend yelped in surprise, flailing his arms and legs momentarily, then laughed, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

Blaine started as Kurt pressed light kisses against his neck, then relaxed, hugging him to his chest. "I love you," he said.

"I know," Kurt said between kisses. Blaine tried to angle his face towards his lips, but Kurt just kissed up and down his neck and along his jaw. Finally Kurt touched his lips to his, and Blaine grabbed him in for the kiss. Kurt pressed into him hungrily; Blaine's hand wandered under the hem of his shirt to knead at the smooth taut skin of Kurt's back.

Suddenly a noisy low rumble echoed, startling both of them.

Blaine burst out giggling. Kurt collapsed onto his stomach, laughing into Blaine's neck. "Oh, god, that was your stomach, wasn't it?" Blaine howled.

Kurt punched him in the shoulder. "I'm just hungry!" he said.

Blaine wrestled Kurt onto his back and dragged him up to his feet. "Come on, come on, I'm sure dinner'll be ready soon," he said. "Let's go." He grabbed Kurt's hand and squeezed it, and Kurt squeezed back as tight as could be.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I wrote this for my darling Staelus! She was working on college applications herself, so I ended up writing this for her.

And now I shall roll around in happy cuddly married!Klaine feels.


	102. Bullying

Disclaimer:Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Finn rounded the corner and his heart stopped beating.<p>

The hockey jerks had Kurt against the lockers, the tips of his toes dangling above the ground. All he could see was the top of his head.

_Oh god, _Finn thought. _Oh god. Not Kurt. Not again._

He couldn't do this again. Last year he hadn't realized how bad the bullying was until a few days before his mother's wedding, when he accidentally walked into the living room to see Kurt sobbing against his father's shoulder, begging for it to stop. The guilt had lingered until he sang for his new stepbrother at the wedding and was rewards with a bright, tremulous smile.

That eased the guilt. For a while.

He didn't notice the bullying at school. He didn't do anything to stop it. He didn't even know about the details until they were at home and he saw Kurt wince after a hug from his father, or flinch when the front door slammed too loud.

Finn swallowed hard. They were coming after his brother again, and this time he was going to do something.

But one of the jocks shifted, and he realized with a start that it wasn't his younger stepbrother, it was that foreign exchange student kid. Ryan, or Riley, or…something. He looked terrified, like he wished he could take the next flight home and never come back.

Finn clenched his fists. He couldn't stand up for Kurt, but he could at least prevent someone else from going through what Kurt did.

He marched towards the jocks, his stride firm. "Hey! Put him down!" he called.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I wrote this for Pot O'Gold! I was so excited that Finn stood up for Rory, but I really wanted to know what his motivation was to help Rory. And then I started thinking "...well, Rory, at a distance, can sometimes be mistaken for Kurt. What if Finn thought they were hurting his little brother?"

And thus this drabble was born.


	103. The First Time

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>In the past eight years, Kurt Hummel found himself talking to his mother on several occasions. His first day of high school, for example, and the morning of his sixteenth birthday. When he was preparing to transfer to Dalton he sobbed out his worries to her, and when Blaine (finally) kissed him, it was all he could not to start babbling in public.<p>

But some things, he thought privately, were not meant to be shared with one's mother.

"Sorry, Mom," Kurt whispered out of the corner of his mouth as he slid the framed photograph he kept by his bed into the nightstand drawer. "But…you know. Just in case."

He paused. "And if you're…you know, really floating around here…if you could stay away from my room for about an hour or so, I would appreciate it."

He paused again. "Or…maybe a couple of hours. I don't know how long it'll take before…you know."

He doubled-checked the closed nightstand drawer before dropping the condom by the lamp and hurrying out of the room, his ears turning red.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

SWEET MOTHER OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. GET READY FOR AN AUTHOR'S NOTE LONGER THAN THE DRABBLE.

If you follow me on tumblr, then you probably picked up on my silence over there, too. Well, things have been rather rough in my household as of late. In the last week, my husband and I have moved, I am in rehearsals for a play I'm acting in, I'm constantly at rehearsals for another play I'm directing, and because of the move, my job is now 45 minutes away, and my rehearsals are more than an hour away. Stress! I have it!

But things are beginning to settle a little, so I thought I would post again. Also, I have a new chapter of Goodnight ready to go! And my lovely friend Meg and I have begun a FANTASTIC project that we're writing together. It has its own tumblr and we have a resident artist to do pictures for us and it's going to be AMAZEBALLS. The prologue will be up later today, but if you want to be fully prepared for the awesomeness about to hit you in the face, then I recommend you check out Course Corrections and Morning Shows the Day by Kivrin (you can find her in my "favorite authors" list.")

But yeah! I hope you're not mad at me for vanishing! And I come bearing things to read!


	104. Always My Baby

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy, not Fox.

* * *

><p>Carole put her hand out. "Now, Burt, please don't panic," she said.<p>

Burt dropped his keys in the glass bowl by the front door. "I'm already panicking," he said. "What's going on? Are you okay?" She nodded. "The boys?"

"Someone threw a tampered slushie at Kurt," Carole said, her voice low and calm. "He's going to be all right. I've already called and made an appointment to see a doctor first thing tomorrow morning."

"Tampered how?" Burt demanded.

"I'm not sure," Carole said. "But whatever it was…it left chemical burns all over his face and neck. Nothing too serious- first and second degree- but he refused to go to the emergency room."

"He hates that place," Burt said, throwing his coat over the back of a chair. "Where is he? Is he okay?"

"I got him cleaned up and put him to bed," Carole said. "Hopefully he's sleeping. Blaine's with him."

But Burt was already charging up the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding. It didn't matter if his injuries were mild. It didn't matter if he was going to be fine. All that mattered was that his son was hurt, and he was going to kill the bastard that did it.

Kurt's door was left partially open; he pushed it away and paused. His son was fast asleep, lying on his back with his blankets pulled up to his shoulders. Burt's heart skipped a beat. Kurt's face was pockmarked in red, as if someone had painted bright swathes of deep pink across his skin.

Blaine was asleep next to Kurt, his dark curls mingling with Kurt's soft brown hair. Kurt's head tilted against his shoulder, and Blaine's fingers laced through Kurt's, their linked hands resting on Kurt's chest.

Burt sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful not to wake them. He reached out gingerly to stroke a lock of Kurt's messy damp hair away from his face. Kurt seemed so young when he was asleep, young enough for Burt to remember the enduring battle to get Kurt to take his afternoon naps and what it was like to carry his sleeping son from the car to his bed and how he used to check on his little boy half a dozen times during the night, sneaking into his darkened bedroom to tuck him back in and snuggle his stuffed teddy bear in his hands and kiss him goodnight one more time.

Burt leaned over and kissed Kurt on the forehead, clumsy but affectionate. _I'm going to kill whoever did this, _he fumed to himself.

In the meantime, though, he would just keep a close eye on his baby. It didn't matter if he was seven or seventeen- Kurt would always be his baby.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

This is a little addendum onto my oneshot Never Enough- I just wanted to play around with what it might have been like if Sebastian's slushie had hit its intended target.

Also I just love writing all the secret Burt feels. So yeah.


	105. Don't Mess With Mama Bear

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Sue watched her Cheerios run laps around the track and grinned in grim satisfaction. She raised her megaphone to her mouth, the speaker squealing. "Oh, you can run faster!" she bellowed. "Do I need to get out the cattle prod again? I will get out the cattle prod if I have to!"<p>

The three-hour after-school practice had ended forty-five minutes earlier, but she had been entirely dissatisfied with their performance, and after a thorough lecture that ended with half the squad choking back tears, she had sentenced them to synchronized wind-sprints.

"Coach, you can't keep up past seven," Quinn huffed as she circled the track with her steps in stride with Santana's.

"Oh, yes, I can," Sue said through the megaphone. "Just for that, Fabray, you get to do an extra ten laps with Boobs McGee."

"Thanks a lot, Quinn," Santana panted.

Sue watched the squad members run around in circles, arms folded. They were clearly struggling to keep going, but they'd be fine. She'd had them do worse.

One of the pairs suddenly broke apart. She scowled as one of her male cheerleaders staggered off the track and doubled over, his hands pressed against his mouth. His partner kept up with him, her arm around his waist. Sue scowled. "Porcelain! Get those pear hips back on the track!" she shouted, her amplified voice echoing across the field.

"Coach, he's sick," Brittany called back. "He needs a break."

"Tell him I didn't give him permission for that!" Sue retorted. Kurt doubled over and threw up beside the bleachers. "Tell him I didn't give him permission for that either!"

"Susan Sylvester."

Sue turned around, dropping the megaphone to her side. "Well, it isn't the Littlest Whale," she smirked.

Mollie Hummel rolled her eyes. "Sue, my unplanned teen pregnancy was sixteen years ago," she said. "Let it go."

"No, no, it's too much fun for me," Sue said. "What brings you here? Trying to relive your glory days?"

"No, actually, I came to see what was keeping my son," Mollie said. She folded her arms. "He was supposed to be home for Friday night dinner twenty minutes ago and his boyfriend nearly gave himself an aneurysm because he wasn't answering his phone. I figured you'd pulled a stunt like this."

"Well, as you can see, my Cheerios have not yet mastered the proper discipline and stamina required to pull off a win at Nationals, so I'm providing them with plenty of opportunity for training," Sue shrugged, gesturing broadly to the exhausted high school students staggering down the track.

Mollie's eyes narrowed, the crystalline blue shade darkening. "Your Cheerios have plenty of discipline and stamina," she said. "You've just worn them out so badly they can't even walk straight."

"They'll be fine," Sue continued blithely. "When I was a Cheerio-"

Mollie took a step forward, jabbing her finger in Sue's face. "When you were a Cheerio, you were bitter and angry because you were too tall to fly and not flexible enough for stunts," she said through her teeth. "The only reason you got to be a captain was because I got pregnant with Kurt and had to drop out." She took another step towards Sue. "And the only reason the Cheerios got to Nationals in 1994 is because _I _developed the routine before I stepped down. _My _routine, Sue. Not yours." Her lips tugged into a smirk. "And you weren't even a full captain. You were just a co-captain."

Sue blinked.

Mollie took a step back. "And now, I'm going to take my son home," she said. "He will not be present for the Super Saturday practice tomorrow so he can rest and recover from today's torture session. When he returns, he will not be obligated to stay past the normal ending time for practices. If you continue to push my child past his physical limits, then I _will _get my husband involved and we _will _bring this up at the next PTA meeting. Is that quite clear?"

Sue arced an eyebrow. "You're a worthy adversary, Mollie Melrose," she said.

"Always have been," Mollie said, smiling sweetly. She stepped down the bleachers and crossed over to Kurt, who was still hunched over with his hands over his mouth. Sue rolled her eyes as Mollie petted his hair and rubbed his back.

She picked up her megaphone. "What are you looking at? No one told you to stop!" she shouted, the microphone squealing.

Mollie whipped around to glare at her, then turned back towards the field. "Santana, Brittany, Quinn, come here," she called. "I'm taking you girls home with me."

The tired Cheerios skidded to a halt and staggered over to her. Brittany threw her arms around Mollie's neck in a grateful hug. Mollie tucked an arm around her son's waist and led her little flock to the parking lot.

Sue's eyes narrowed. "This isn't over, Mollie Melrose," she muttered under her breath.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

OMG THIS IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE DRABBLES.

Mollie is such a mama bear type. She would be so super protective of her sweet baby. And OMG it would be so adorable that Blaine would come over early for Friday night dinner and wait for Kurt to come home and help Mollie with dinner, and then he would start freaking out over Kurt being so late, and Mollie would pat him on the head, tell him to go relax, and she'll go find her son.

And OMG Kurt would get home all tired out and queasy and Blaine would spoil him and cuddle him and Mollie will love on both of her boys.


	106. Seriously, Don't Mess With Mama Bear

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"They're home!" Blaine called, scrambling from his restless perch on the Hummels' couch.<p>

Burt glanced up. "Mollie's got Kurt?" he said.

Blaine didn't answer. He was already out the front door, his hastily donned shoes sliding on his feet. "What took so long?" he asked.

Mollie climbed out of the car. "It was just like I thought," she said, crossing to the front passenger door. "Sue was working them to death. Poor things, they're exhausted."

She opened the door and held out her hands to Kurt, who gripped them tightly as he leaned out of the car. He looked terrible- his pale skin flushed red, his hair and clothes damp with sweat. Mollie tucked her arm around him as he smiled sheepishly at Blaine. "Hi," he offered.

"Are you all right?" Blaine asked, curling his fingers into his palms anxiously. He wanted desperately to take Kurt's hand, to comfort him, something, but his mother's arm was tight around his waist. "What happened?"

"He got a little sick," Mollie said, smoothing Kurt's hair away from his forehead. She glanced at Blaine, the corner of her mouth tilting up a little. "Would you mind getting him into the house?"

"Sure," he said immediately, reaching for Kurt's hand. His skin was hot and clammy, his fingers trembling.

"I don't need a babysitter," Kurt tried to protest.

Blaine linked their fingers together. "Too bad," he said, leaning in to press a kiss on Kurt's hot cheek. "Are you okay? Do you want to lie down?"

Kurt sighed. "That would be nice, actually," he confessed.

Blaine walked him into the house, hands clasped tight. Burt tossed his parts catalogue on the coffee table as they walked in. "You doing okay, kiddo?" he asked.

"I just want to lie down," Kurt said.

"Well, you look like crap," Burt said.

"Everyone on the squad did," Mollie said, closing the front door behind them as Blaine helped Kurt over to the couch. "They were getting worked to death. I took Quinn, Brittany, and Santana home too. I thought they were going to keel over."

Kurt sank into the couch cushions, blue eyes sliding shut. Blaine plucked at his shoelaces, smiling a little himself as he watched Kurt's facial expression relax, the tightness of his mouth fading and the sharp furrow of his forehead smooth. He rubbed Kurt's ankle affectionately.

Mollie walked out of the laundry room with a folded washcloth in her hand. "Here, baby," she said, sitting down beside him and draping the cool damp cloth over his forehead. "Is that better?"

"Uh-huh, a lot," he said, his voice already slow and drawling.

Mollie rubbed his chest lightly. "You rest, okay?" she said. "I'll make dinner and you can get cleaned up and go right to bed. How does that sound?"

He nodded a little, already shifting into the couch to get more comfortable. Mollie bent over and kissed him on the forehead, her fingertips brushing at his hair. She stood up and started to cross back to the kitchen, then paused and leaned towards Blaine's ear.

"Take care of our boy, hm?" she whispered.

He nodded, his smile growing wider, and he squeezed Kurt's ankle lovingly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

A lot of people wanted to see this.

I was hapy to oblige.

ALL THE SWEET HUMMEL FAMILY FEELS. WITH BONUS BOYFRIEND!


	107. Hysterical Midnight Phone Calls

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Lucy fumbled for her phone in the dark, not bothering to raise her face from the pillow. She thumped the talk button and dropped it against her ear. "H'llo?" she mumbled, her voice thick from sleep.<p>

"Lucy? Hi. Um, hi, it's Blaine."

"What you want?" she mumbled, her words slurring.

"Can, um, can you go check on Kurt for me?"

"Why?" she whined. "Can't you? I'm tired."

"Lucy. It's spring break. I'm in Italy with my family, remember?"

She sighed, rolling over onto her back. "Why do I need to check on Kurt at seven in the morning?" she asked, rubbing at her face.

"Because when I talked to him he sounded really sick, and I'm worried," Blaine said, his voice sounding slightly garbled. "His dad's in Washington and his mom is at OSU with Finn for a college visit, and I don't want him to be alone if he's sick."

Lucy sighed. "Fine," she said. "But you owe me, Anderson. You owe me big time."

"I'll do anything you want," Blaine promised. "I swear. You are a goddess and I adore you."

"Well, that's a good start," she said. "I'll let you know how he's doing. Now go back to your insanely awesome Italy trip, okay?"

She managed to drag herself out of bed, make herself presentable, and get on the road in a decent amount of time. There weren't any signs of life at Kurt's house, and no one answered the door when she knocked, but she found the spare key and let herself in.

She crept up the silent stairs to Kurt's room and tapped the door open slowly. "Kurt?" she whispered. "Don't freak out. I'm not an intruder."

She was met by the loudest, rumbliest, longest snore she had ever heard in her life.

Lucy stifled a laugh and crept over to Kurt's bed. The long-legged boy was curled up tightly in a blanket cocoon; only the top of his sleep-rumbled head was visible. He snored again, his chest rising and falling with the breath. She tugged back the blankets and rubbed his back gently. "Kurt? Kurt, honey, wake up," she said.

He snored louder.

She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. "Ooh, that's a fever," she said to herself. She climbed onto her knees and bent over him. "Kurt, wake up. It's Lucy. Wake up."

He broke off mid-snore and cracked one eye open. "Lu?" he croaked.

"Yes, honey, it's me," she said. "I see someone has a little spring flu going on."

Kurt groaned and tried to pull the blankets back. "Oh, no," she said. "Your boyfriend did not call me at seven in the morning from Italy for you to whine at me."

"Blaine called?" Kurt whined.

"Yes, he did, and you ought to stop talking, because your voice has dropped at least two octaves," Lucy said. "Now sit up, honey. You're just going to keep snoring if you sleep with your face in your pillow like that."

He sat up and glared at her, a look cheapened by the pillow lines crisscrossing his cheek and his hair sticking up on one side. "I do not snore," he said haughtily.

Lucy snickered. "Sure, baby, you tell yourself that," she said. "Now you go take a long hot shower. The steam'll help your congestion. I'll make you some tea."

Kurt frowned. "I don't recall asking you to babysit," he said.

"No, but Blaine did, and you know he won't be happy if he comes home and you're still sick like this," she said. She took his hands and dragged him out of bed. "Now get up." She turned him towards the bathroom and spanked him lightly. "Go on. Shower. Now."

Kurt huffed. "Fine," he said, stomping away. "I hope you're happy."

"You know me, I love to boss people around," she said cheerfully.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

If you hadn't guessed by now, I'm a sucker for prompts that involve Lurty.


	108. The Secret Jonas Brothers Crush Phase

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Kurt, are you gonna get this stuff or not?"<p>

Kurt scrambled to his feet. "Dad, don't you dare throw anything away until I look at it!" he called. "Dad? Dad! Don't throw it away!"

Blaine followed him up the stairs at a more sedate pace. "I thought you were going to do all of your pre-college purging last week," he said.

Kurt ran up the stairs two at a time. "Well, I was, but _someone _decided to get the flu last week," he said.

"Hey, I didn't ask you to come over and nurse me back to health," Blaine grinned. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend's waist and attacked the back of his neck with soft nibbling kisses. "Mwah. Here, I'll give you the flu and I'll nurse you back to health and then we'll be even."

Kurt laughed and squirmed away. "Let me get all of my packing out of the way, and then you can give me the flu," he said, patting Blaine's chest. He squeezed Blaine's arm and leaned on the ladder to the attic. "Dad? What'd you find?"

"There's an open box in your room," Burt called back. "Middle school stuff, mostly. Outgrown clothes, your old backpack, lots of your old school papers and binders. You know, back in your Jo-"

Kurt paled. "Okay, Dad, um, I'll look at it," he said.

"It's pretty funny, all your 'I heart the Jo-"

Kurt hastily slid the ladder up and slammed the attic door shut. Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Did you just shut your father in the attic?" he inquired.

"…no?"

"KURT. KURT HUMMEL. YOU OPEN THIS DAMN DOOR."

Blaine grinned. "I have got to see what's in this box," he said. He gave Kurt a push, toppling him over, and galloped down the hall to Kurt's bedroom.

"No! Blaine! You can't!"

It was too late. Blaine slammed the door shut behind him, yanked the box open, and stared in shock at the contents.

"Oh my god," he breathed. "Jonas Brothers!"

"YOU CANNOT LAUGH AT ME. I WAS YOUNG AND DEEPLY IN THE CLOSET. IT WAS JUST A PHASE."

Blaine reveled in the array of binders, notebooks, and a particularly incriminating backpack with _Mr. Hummel-Jonas _written on it in black sharpie. "Tell me which one!" he called.

"…what?"

"Which brother was your favorite?" Blaine asked.

"I didn't…I don't…oh, I don't even know their names…"

"Tell me, or Rachel Berry is getting a very interesting collection of picture mail," Blaine threatened.

"Joe! Joe! It was Joe, okay? I was totally in love with Joe."

Blaine paused. "Really?" he said.

He heard Kurt sigh through the door. "Joe was my favorite, okay?" he said. "I loved him. I loved him with all the depth of my twelve-year-old heart."

Blaine cracked the door and peeked out. "Nick," he announced.

Kurt was sitting cross-legged on the floor in the hallway; he glanced up and blinked. "What about Nick?" he asked, his neck red in embarrassment but his lips tugged down in a charming sulk.

Blaine held out his hands to help him up. "I was completely infatuated with Nick," he told Kurt, squeezing his hands. "Francey took me to a Jonas Brothers concert for my birthday and I bought a Nick shirt while I was there…and I slept in it every night until I started at Dalton."

Kurt smiled. "I was never that crazy," he said, lifting his chin.

"Really, Mr. Kurt Hummel-Jonas?" Blaine said. He picked up a notebook and flipped through it. "You have some incredibly adorable games of MASH in here. So you and Joe are going to live in LA, have four children, and live in a mansion?"

The red blush spread to Kurt's ears. "I was young!" he said.

Blaine laughed and nuzzled the tip of Kurt's nose. "As long as you love me more than Joe," he said. "You do love me more than Joe, right?"

"More than all the Jonas Brothers combined," Kurt assured him.

Carole stuck her head in the door. "I hate to interrupt, but do any of you know why your father was locked in the attic?" she inquired.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

NEW KURT HUMMEL HEADCANON: HE WAS SECRETLY OBSESSED WITH THE JONAS BROTHERS AS A MIDDLE SCHOOLER.

NEW BLAINE ANDERSON HEADCANON: DITTO

NEW BURT HUMMEL HEADCANON: HE WAS _SO _NOT SURPRISED WHEN KURT CAME OUT OF THE CLOSET.


	109. Jellyfish

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Ow!"<p>

"Hold still! Hold still! Do you need me to carry you?"

"No, Finn, I'm _fine, _I don't need you to carry me!"

Carole slid her sunglasses down the bridge of her nose. "Uh-oh," she said. She set down her magazine and nudged her husband lightly. "I think the boys have gotten into something."

Burt grunted. "Told you we shouldn't have gone to the beach for vacation this year," he groused.

Carole rolled her eyes. "Boys, come over here," she called. "What's wrong?"

The two ten-year-old boys ran across the sand towards them. "Kurt got stung! Kurt got stung!" Finn shouted. He pushed his smaller brother in Carole's direction. "And he won't let me pee on it!"

"If you pee on me, I'll kill you in your sleep!" Kurt shrieked. He clutched his left wrist, holding his arm away from his body. "Momma, don't let him pee on me!"

"Finn," Carole warned. She held a hand out to her stepson. "Come here, sweetie, let me see."

"It hurts," Kurt whined. He shook his head, water droplets falling from his damp hair. "Don't touch it."

Burt sighed. "Kiddo, we can't help if we can't see it," he said.

Kurt fled into his father's arms, plunking down on Burt's knees and hiding his face in his chest. Burt held him close on his lap and tugged the hurt arm so Carole could see it. She touched his sun-pinked skin lightly, taking a good look at the red welt. "Poor thing," she cooed, rubbing the back of his hand.

Finn hovered anxiously. "Seriously, I'll pee on it," he said. "I was watching Friends-"

"You were what?" Carole asked, raising an eyebrow.

Finn shifted his weight. "I know I'm not supposed to watch it, but I was watching it, and Monica, she got stung by a jellyfish, and they peed on it, and it got better," he said.

"Daddy, don't let Finn pee on me!" Kurt wailed.

"He's not gonna pee on you," Burt said, patting Kurt's hip. "Stop talking about it, you're freaking out your little brother."

"But Puck told me if you got stung by a jellyfish and you don't get it fixed, you gotta get that part cut off!" Finn said, horrified. "He said his cousin's uncle's sister got her foot cut off when she got stung!"

Kurt began to cry. Finn looked near tears himself. Carole planted a hand over her blabbering son's mouth. "Calm down," she said firmly. "You're getting upset, and Kurt is already upset, and this needs to stop. Yes?"

"Yes, Mom," Finn whispered, swallowing hard.

"Go get the lifeguard, tell them we need to get Kurt to the emergency room," Carole said, still keeping her voice calm. "Go run quick."

Finn hurried to obey. Kurt bawled harder. "I don't wanna go to the emergency room," he sobbed.

Burt sighed, adjusting Kurt on his lap so his son could press his face into the crook of his neck. "Next year, we're going to the lake like we do every year," he said grimly. "None of this Florida jellyfish nonsense."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Ugh, I love writing baby Hudmel brothers. So cute. And poor Finn, trying _so hard _to help and willing to do whatever it takes to help his baby brother. And poor Kurt, being threatened with Finn peeing on him.

And poor Burt, who is so not a beach person.


	110. Slushied

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>The only thing running through Blaine Anderson's mind was that Kurt was entirely correct- it was exactly like getting slapped in the face by an iceberg.<p>

One second he was standing in the hallway, chatting in what he thought was a pleasant conversation with a lanky basketball player in a varsity jacket, and the next second everything fell into slo-mo as the violently green slushie soared through the air like a chunky missile and splattered everywhere.

Blaine choked, gasping for breath. There was slushie in his hair and his mouth and his eyes and his nose and everything, absolutely _everything, _smelled like sour green apples. He screwed up his mouth, trying to decide between being gross and spitting on the floor, or being grossed out and swallowing the slushie sticking to his tongue.

"Oh, god, _ew,_" he finally burst out. He flapped his hand at the basketball jock, trying to put together a proper comeback. "That was…that was completely uncalled for!"

Oh god. Lamest comeback ever.

Before the jock could launch into a second attack, a vaguely human form stormed through Blaine's blurry vision and grabbed him by the arm. "Come on, let's go," he heard Tina say. "It won't do you any good to stick around, he'll just bring friends."

"Why did he do that?" Blaine asked, rubbing at his eyes.

"Ooh, don't do that, the corn syrup will just make everything worse," Tina warned, slapping his hand lightly away. "Just close your eyes. I'll tell you if we need to go up and down any steps."

Blaine obeyed, allowing Tina to lead him down the hallway. He heard the swing of a door opening, and his shoes clicked on a tile floor. "It's the girl's bathroom, but…it's better than me going in the boy's," Tina said. "Bend your knees, there's a chair behind you."

"You guys have chairs in here?" Blaine said, sitting down a little harder than he intended.

"Ooh, he got slushied," he heard a second sympathetic voice say. He vaguely recognized it as Brittany. "Poor dolphin. Should I fetch Kurt?"

"Yes, please, go get him," Tina said. He heard the rushing of water into the sink. "All right, Blaine. This might sting a little."

He screwed up his face as she touched the damp towel to his eyes. "Oh, god, you're right about the stinging," he grimaced.

"Hold still, you're so squirmy," Tina said. "There. Sorry. I know it burns, but at least you can open your eyes again, right?"

He blinked in the fluorescent light. Tina hovered above him, mouth drawn down. "Much better," he said with a reassuring smile, and was relieved when Tina's face relaxed. "Does this happen a lot?"

"Not as bad as it was our first year," Tina admitted, wiping slushie gently out of his ears. "There was one week it got so bad we wore raincoats to every class."

Blaine's brain conjured up the image of Kurt in a yellow rain slicker and he smiled foolishly.

"Of course, nothing was ever as bad as Kurt slushying himself," Tina admitted.

Blaine sat up. A chunk of slushie dripped down the back of his neck and he shivered. "He did what?" he said.

"Finn quit the glee club for like…a week," Tina explained. "He was trying to get the football team to like him again, and they sent him to slushie Kurt. He couldn't bring himself to do it, so Kurt grabbed the slushie and threw it in his own face. He smelled like grape for the rest of the day."

"Why'd he do it?" Blaine asked.

Tina shrugged, rinsing off the towel and turning back to wipe off the back of Blaine's neck. "He said he was taking one for the team," he said. "He didn't want Finn to be in trouble with the rest of the team. Here, lean forward."

Blaine obeyed, pondering over the story she had just told him, and the door burst open. "Oh my god. Blaine! Are you okay?" Kurt demanded.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Blaine said. Kurt dumped his messenger bag on the floor and cupped his cheeks in his hands, searching his face anxiously. "Kurt, it was a slushie, not a stoning."

"God, I was hoping you wouldn't have to deal with this," Kurt said. He waved his hand at Tina without tearing his eyes away from Blaine. "I've got this. Thank you, Tina."

"No problem," she said, patting Blaine's shoulder. "See you in glee."

Kurt rummaged in his bag as she left, pulling out a small travel-sized bottle of shampoo. "Aha! I knew I had it with me," he said. "All right, tilt your head back."

Blaine obeyed. Kurt turned on the faucet and scooped handfuls of water gently over his hair. "Tina told me the slushying used to be pretty bad," he said.

Kurt laughed. "Oh my god, it was ridiculous," he said. "We still reminisce about the Great Poncho Week of '09."

Blaine closed his eyes as Kurt uncapped the shampoo bottle with a soft pop and poured some into his hands. "Tina said you once slushied yourself," he said.

Kurt rubbed the shampoo between his palms, filling the air with the warm clean scent. "I did," he said. "When I was young and stupid."

"You weren't stupid," Blaine said, relaxing in his chair as Kurt's slender fingers massaged the shampoo through his sticky curls. "Wasn't that when you were super in love with Finn?"

"Blaine, you promised not to bring that up!" Kurt scolded.

"But you did it because you loved him, at least at that point," Blaine said.

Kurt rinsed the shampoo from Blaine's hair. "I didn't love him, I liked him," he corrected. "I was elbow-deep in puppy love. It's not the same."

Blaine tugged on Kurt's sleeve until his boyfriend was forced to sit down on his knee. "You will do anything to protect someone you love," he said. "I think that's amazing."

Kurt smiled at him, unguarded. "Well, I do try," he said. He kissed Blaine on the cheek. "Now sit up and take your shirt off. I brought you one of mine. It's going to fit funny, since my shoulders are broader but my chest is more narrow, but at least you won't smell like sour apples all day."

Blaine smiled. "It'll be perfect," he promised, and he leaned in to kiss Kurt, his lips still sticky-sweet.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

This was written loooong before Michael.

OMG they're so cute though.


	111. Super Cuddles

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"What on earth are you doing?" Blaine exclaimed. He took Kurt by the wrist and tugged him into the house. "Oh my god, babe, you're soaked."<p>

Kurt wavered on his feet, his hair plastered to his forehead as he dripped all over the foyer floor. "Well, it's sort of raining," he said, his teeth chattering as he hugged himself tightly.

"Where's your car?" Blaine asked, batting Kurt's stiff, cold hands away and unfastening the front of his soaking wet coat.

"H-hydroplaned," Kurt said, shivering violently. "At the entrance to your neighborhood. I'm fine, but my car popped a tire. I couldn't find my phone, so I walked…"

Blaine stripped off Kurt's wet coat and tossed it on the rack by the door. "God, you're soaked through," he said. "Come on, let's get you warmed up and dried off."

"Blaine, I'm fine, I'm just-" Kurt started to protest.

"Don't you dare tell me you're fine," Blaine said, taking him by the hand and leading him up the stairs to his room. "Kurt Hummel, you're nowhere near fine. Come on, right to the bathroom."

He forced Kurt to sit down on the edge of the bathtub and began the difficult tasking of stripping him out of his wet layers. "Why do you always wear so much clothing?" he asked, smiling as he pried at a particularly stubborn button.

"Because I like it," Kurt said crossly, frowning as Blaine slid his wet, heavy cardigan off his arms and draped it over the side of the tub. "Careful, it'll stretch out."

"Don't worry about your clothes," Blaine said, unbuttoning Kurt's shirt. "Arms up."

He helped Kurt undress carefully, piling the layers over the bathtub and sink to dry- shirt, undershirt, tie, belt, boots, pants. Thankfully Kurt ran out of clothes before he ran out of space. He pulled a clean fluffy bath towel off the rack and tucked it around Kurt's head and shoulders like a cloak. "There," he said in satisfaction as he rubbed the towel over Kurt's wet hair. "Better?"

"I am wet, half-naked, and freezing. How is this better?" Kurt said, scowling. He winced as Blaine tugged on his hair. "Ow! Tenderheaded, remember?"

Blaine wrapped the towel tighter around Kurt and kissed the tip of his nose. "You're just cranky," he said. "Sit tight, I'll bring you something warm to wear."

He scooted into his room and rummaged through his drawers, picking out a few clothing items that would be comfy and warm. "All right, you're going to get dressed, and once you're warm and dry, you can call your dad about your car," he said. "Here, take them."

Kurt wrinkled his nose, but accepted the clothes. "Thank you, I suppose," he said as he hopped awkwardly into the fleece sweatpants.

Blaine kissed his cold cheek. "I'll be downstairs if you need me," he said. "Go ahead and use my phone to call your dad, it's on my dresser."

"Fine, sure," Kurt sighed. Blaine squeezed his arm, then headed downstairs.

He turned on the television and popped in a DVD, letting it play through the commercials, then headed into the kitchen. Luckily there was an entire full gallon of milk; he poured a generous amount into a saucepan and set it on a low heat setting.

"…Dad, I promise, I'm fine," he heard Kurt say over the phone, his footsteps heavy on the stairs. "I'm not hurt, just shaken up. No, I will _not _get pneumonia just because I walked four blocks in the rain. I've been through worse, I'll be fine. I'm at Blaine's house. Yes, I'll stay until you get me. I'm sure he won't mind me staying the night. Dad. I'm positive. He won't mind. Yes. Mm-hm. I love you too."

Kurt hung up the phone and set it on the counter. "My dad wants to know if you're okay with me spending the night," he said dryly.

"I don't mind at all," Blaine promised. He leaned over the counter and pecked Kurt on the lips. "I'm making hot chocolate. You go get settled on the couch and turn the movie on."

"Blaine, I got a little bit wet. I'm not an invalid," Kurt protested. He paused to cough into his hand. "I'm just-"

"Go. Sit. Now."

Kurt huffed but stomped over the living room. Blaine pulled two large mugs out of the cabinet and spoon hot chocolate mix into both. "Really, Blaine?" Kurt called. "Narnia? Again?"

"Hey, it always makes me feel better," Blaine called back.

"But I'm not-"

Kurt broke into another coughing fit. Blaine switched off the burner and poured hot milk into both mugs. "Just lie down. I'll be there in a second," he said.

By the time he made it to the living room, Kurt was curled up in the corner of the couch, a plaid blanket tucked around his shoulders like a prince's cape. His hair was beginning to curl as it dried. "I'm sorry I'm so grumpy," he said meekly.

"You're fine," Blaine reassured him. He handed Kurt a mug of hot chocolate. "Scooch over."

Kurt made room for him on the couch; Blaine settled in behind him, letting Kurt curl up between his legs, and tucked the blanket over both of them. "Drink your hot chocolate," Blaine said, pressing a kiss on the back of Kurt's head. His boyfriend snuggled in his arms, his head tucked against the broad plane of Blaine's shoulder, and Blaine relaxed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****THESE PRECIOUS BOYS AND ALL THE FEELINGS THEY GIVE ME.

They're so adorable. Blaine likes to play caretaker, and Kurt pretends like he doesn't want to be fussed over even though he secretly loves it.

ALL THE ADORABLE FEELS.


	112. Disney World

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt shifted his weight awkwardly, very thankful that none of the guys from garage could see him right then.<p>

He stood in line by the wall of fake rocks, listening to "Under the Sea" play for the umpteenth time since they got in line to meet the mermaid princess. Kurt was still bouncing happily up and down, singing along to the song and trying to peer around the corner to get a better look. Mollie smiled at him, holding his Ariel doll tucked under one arm and occasionally smoothing his hair, the silky ends curling in the Orlando humidity.

"Mommy, Mommy, I'm so excited!" Kurt said for the eightieth time since they got in line.

"I know, baby," Mollie said. "Do you have your autograph book?"

"And my pen!" he said, brandishing both. He stood up on tiptoes, his slim little feet nearly sliding out of his sneakers. "Mommy, do you think Ariel will like me?"

"She'll love you, sweetheart," Mollie reassured him. She smiled at Burt over their small son's head; he smiled back, but he was too concerned about how pale she was to make it real. He'd tried to talk her into getting a wheelchair when they first arrived at Magic Kingdom that morning, but she'd refused, saying she was doing just fine, and Kurt needed someone to hold his hand at all times in the crazy crowds and she couldn't do that in a chair. Judging by how she was pressing her lips together, though, it wasn't going to be much longer before he could talk her into it.

"Mommy, we're next!" Kurt squealed, hopping up to his place in line. He threw his arms around Mollie's waist. "Mommy, this is the best birthday present ever."

She smiled and bent to kiss the top of his head. Burt swallowed hard. Her arms looked so thin.

They hadn't planned on going to Disney quite yet. They were hoping for next summer, when Kurt was nine and hopefully tall enough to reach the height requirements for all of the rides. But Mollie had begged and pleaded.

"Eight is a good age to take him," she'd argued. "He still believes in Disney magic. And he won't care about missing out on a few rides. He's going to want to see all the shows and the parades and the characters."

At last she had worn him down and he'd reluctantly booked a week-long trip for Kurt's eighth birthday. Mollie had planned the whole thing- packing his suitcase after he left for school, picking him up right before lunchtime and making a big show of getting his homework assignments for the week from his teacher, driving to the airport and smiling mysteriously at Kurt's anxious pestering of "but where are we going, Mommy? Where are we going?"

It wasn't until they were settled on the airplane and Mollie withdrew the large Ariel doll that Kurt had admired in the window of the Disney store at the mall for the past few months that she revealed their destination. Kurt had nearly cried, hugging both of his parents in pure joy and accidentally bopping Burt in the face with his new doll in rapture. His happiness had been worth taking out a mortgage on the house- Mollie's hospital bills had drained their original savings fund for the trip.

Burt looked down at his wide-eyed little son, dressed in a Mickey Mouse shirt and checkered shorts with a "today is my birthday!" pin fastened to his chest. He swallowed hard. Kurt didn't need to know that they were going on the trip because they weren't sure if his mother was going to make it to the next summer.

"All right, honey, we're next," Mollie said, still patting at Kurt's hair. "Are you ready?"

He nodded eagerly, wordless in anticipation, and Mollie gave him a gentle push into the grotto. Burt followed closely, stepping to the side and handing the Photopass card to the photographer.

Kurt's favorite Disney princess sat on a rock, her long red curls picture-perfect and her smile genuine. "Hello!" she said, clasping her hands in delight. "What's your name?" Kurt hid behind his mother, shyness overwhelming him, and Ariel tilted her head to look at him. "Oh, my. Did a sea witch take your voice too?"

Kurt peeped out from behind Mollie. "Noooo," he said shyly. Ariel beckoned to him and he approached cautiously, the toe of his sneaker digging into the ground. "I'm Kurt.."

"Ooh, Prince Kurt, is it your birthday?" Ariel asked. "How old are you?" He held up his fingers. "Eight? Oh my goodness. You're so grown up!"

He edged a little closer. "Where's Flounder?" he asked.

"He and Sebastian are reorganizing my treasures," she said. "I found a new dinglehopper!" Kurt laughed, high and sweet, and Ariel patted her knee. "Would you like to come sit with me?"

Kurt scooted over to the pretty mermaid and climbed onto her lap, all shyness gone as he chatted a mile a minute. Ariel nodded and smiled as he spoke, listening to his every word. She took his autograph book out of his hands and began to write as they chatted.

"…and my music teacher, Miss Libby, she says, she says I have the best voice in my class," Kurt said, swinging his little legs back and forth.

"Oh goodness," Ariel giggled. She tapped the tip of Kurt's nose. "You'd better not let any mean sea witches get that pretty voice of yours." She smiled. "Do you want to take pictures now?"

Kurt nodded eagerly and Burt hid a grin. The little boy was decidedly not camera shy. The photopass photographer took a few shots, and then Kurt hesitantly patted Ariel's arm. "Can my mommy be in the pictures too?" he asked.

"Of course!" Ariel said, waving Mollie over. "Mommy, come be in the picture with us."

Mollie sat down beside Ariel. Kurt grabbed onto her fingers and leaned over to whisper into Ariel's ear. She bent close, pulling her hair back. "I like you a lot because you look like my mommy," he confided.

Mollie smiled widely at the sudden praise, and Ariel's eyes danced. "You are the sweetest prince I have ever met," she declared, and she bent to press her lipstick'd lips to his soft round cheek. Kurt beamed up at her, starry-eyed and completely besotted.

The photographer chuckled softly. "Got a good shot of that one," she whispered to Burt.

"All right, honey, Ariel has to go meet a lot of other boys and girls," Mollie said, squeezing Kurt's knee. "Say bye."

"Bye, Princess Ariel," Kurt said reverently.

"Goodbye, Prince Kurt," she said. Mollie took Kurt's hand and walked him out of the grotto; Burt took the photopass card and followed them out.

"That was so much fun!" Mollie said, squeezing Kurt's little hand. "She called you a prince, and she gave you a kiss, and…Kurt? Precious, why are you crying?"

She knelt down to his eye-level. Kurt was rubbing his knuckles in his eyes. "I'm crying because I'm happy, Mommy!" he sobbed. "I'm really happy." Mollie laughed and leaned in to kiss him. "Not on the cheek, Mommy, that's Ariel's kiss!"

She laughed again and kissed his forehead. "I'm glad they're happy tears, baby," she said. She struggled to her feet; Burt reached out to steady her. Her face paled. "Kurt, honey, how about we go get some ice cream?"

While Kurt dried his tears and clapped his hands in excitement, she leaned over to get Burt's attention. "If you don't mind getting a wheelchair from the front of the park while I get him ice cream…"

Burt nodded, squeezing her arm gently. He knew that was a huge concession for her- she didn't want Kurt to spend the trip worrying over why his mother couldn't walk. But she really wasn't strong enough to walk, especially for the entire week.

He thought of his little son crying with happiness because his favorite princess had been so kind and attentive, and the tension drained a little from his shoulders. If he could just keep that smile on Kurt's face for as long as possible…

So if he met them back by the ice cream cart with a wheelchair for Mollie and a brand-new Ariel tiara in his hand for Kurt, it was worth all of the odd looks to see his son prancing around Magic Kingdom like he owned the place.

And late that night, when the fireworks finished and the park was slowly emptying, Burt stood nearby as Mollie cuddled a sleepy Kurt on her lap, his tiara askew and his Ariel baby doll tucked under his arm. She bent her bright head over his, crooning a lullaby in his ear as he drooped into sleep.

"When you wish upon a star…makes no difference who you are…"

Burt tilted his head up, gazing at the clouded night sky, and made the useless wish that nothing would ever change.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

UGH ALL THE SOBBING.

Everything is better with Disney World. Fo sho. And I've referenced this trip a couple of times in various stories- I think there's a drabble around here somewhere where Kurt actually pulls out the video of him meeting Ariel so he and Finn can watch it. And uggggh, baby Kurt meeting Ariel would be the cutest thing ever. EVER.

Also, I've reference this a couple of times, but one of my favorite little Glee things is an argument between Krirt and Mercedes where she finally goes "do you know what? If you hair was any longer, you'd have curls." I've always thought that was an _adorable _mental image, so I stick little references to Kurt's hair curling in stories sometimes.

But yeah. Adorable Kurt is adorable. Especially adorable Kurt with his beloved mommy.

Also, this drabble makes me want to write that whole story about Kurt and Blaine as Disney cast members. Might as well put my cast member experience to good use!


	113. Crash

__Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p><em>Hi, this is Blaine!<em>

"…Blaine?"

_Oops, sorry, I can't answer my phone right now._

"Blaine, please pick up…"

_Leave me a message and I'll call you back as soon as I can!_

"Blaine…it's Kurt…please pick up. Please. Finn and I…there's a wreck, we were in a wreck, we're at the corner of Wilmore and Park Court…my battery's dying and I don't, I don't know what to do, and Finn's not waking up, and…please, Blaine, I need-"

Finn blinked in the half-light as something plastic clattered into the nearby cupholder and he heard Kurt heave a strangled little sob. "What's wrong?" he mumbled, his voice thick. He swallowed hard.

"Finn? Finn, are you okay?"

He blinked again, and the dashboard of the car came into view. "I guess," he said, still struggling to speak. His chest ached, like he'd just been on the wrong end of a bad tackle. "What…what happened?"

"I crashed the car. I crashed the car, and Dad's going to kill me, and you're going to die."

Kurt's voice rose in terror. Finn turned his head sluggishly toward him and blinked. "There's a tree in the car," he said.

"I _know _there's a tree in the car!" Kurt said tearfully. "We're in a ditch, and there was a felled tree, and…god, Finn, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, I think I'm okay," Finn said. He was tilting to the side at a strange angle, like he was stuck on an amusement park ride. His head felt thick and dizzy and the world kept undulating around him, but he didn't feel like he was going to die. Of course, he had never died before, so he didn't know what it was supposed to feel like. "How 'bout you? Y'okay?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Kurt snapped. His voice sounded muffled through the ugly fir branch jabbing through the windshield. Winter wind blew through the shattered remains of the glass and Finn shivered. "Just hold still, and don't go to sleep. You probably have a concussion." He heard Kurt give a slow shuddering breath, like he was trying to calm himself down but he was too far gone to manage. "I don't suppose you have your phone nearby, do you?"

"'s in my backpack," Finn said. The world was still spinning and lazy dots danced in his vision. "Why?"

"Because my phone died," Kurt said. It sounded like he was shifting around in the driver's seat somewhere beneath Finn, like he was looking for something. "I didn't know whether to call Dad or an ambulance first, and I…I called Blaine because I figured he could call everyone, but my phone died in the middle of the message and I don't know if he'll check any time soon and-"

Kurt's voice cut off with a high, sharp cry of pain. Finn's heart skipped a beat. "Kurt?" he demanded.

"I think I'm hurt," Kurt said in a small, breathless voice. "Oh god. Oh god. Finn, it hurts. It hurts really, really bad."

"Don't move," Finn said. "Moving's gonna make it worse. What kind of hurt is it?"

"My side," Kurt whimpered. "I think-" Finn heard that sharp terrified intake of breath again. "Oh god. I'm…I'm wet. I think it's blood. Finn, I'm bleeding. What am I supposed to do?"

"Don't move," Finn repeated, disobeying his own advice and shifting closer. "Just stay still. Help's going to come. I promise."

"What if they don't come in time?" Kurt whispered.

"They're gonna," Finn said firmly. He thrust his hand through the tree branch dividing him from his brother, ignoring the wet tickle of leaves and the faint scratch against his arm. "Hold my hand."

"But I…"

"Just hold my hand, Kurt."

There was a slight pause, and then soft hesitant fingertips brushed against Finn's palm. He seized Kurt's hand and held on tightly. "I'm not gonna go anywhere," Finn promised. "I'm going to stay here with you till the ambulance comes, and you're not gonna be alone, okay?"

Kurt's fingers tightened around his, shaking but still strong. "I'm scared," he confessed.

"I am too," Finn said. "But we're going to be okay." He squeezed Kurt's hand. "You did the right thing calling Blaine. He always checks his messages, especially when he sees that he missed a call from you. He'll call Mom and Dad, and 911, and we're going to be okay."

"Your head still feels okay, right?" Kurt said, his voice trembling.

He decided to conveniently ignore the headache pulsing at the base of his skull. "I'm gonna be fine," he reassured Kurt. He rearranged his fingers to lace through Kurt's, holding on tightly. "And so are you. Just stay where you are."

They fell into silence, Kurt's ragged breathing the only hint that he was still there. Finn rubbed his thumb over the back of Kurt's hand. His skin was freezing cold. "You all right?" he ventured.

There was a long pause before Kurt answered. "Is Blaine here yet?" he whispered.

"No, no, not yet," Finn said. "But he's coming. I promise. Blaine's coming, and Dad, and ambulances and everything. You're going to be okay. Hang on."

"I'm so tired…"

"Sing something," Finn said desperately. "What was that song that Blaine sang, when you came back to McKinley? The one that made everyone cry."

The car was silent for a moment, and then he heard Kurt singing quietly, his voice hitched and breathy. Finn hummed along. He didn't remember the words, but he didn't want Kurt to sing alone. Every time Kurt's thin, reedy voice halted, Finn squeezed his hand, encouraging him to go on.

In the far off distance, he heard a car screech to a stop. He squeezed Kurt's hand tighter. He didn't want to say anything in case it wasn't Blaine, but oh, how he hoped it was.

Footsteps echoed on the road behind them. Finn gripped Kurt's hand; he could hear his voice getting weaker. _Please let it be him, please let it be him…_

"Kurt!"

Kurt halted. "Blaine?" he whispered.

Finn shifted as best as he could in the passenger seat, trying to look up. "Blaine!" he shouted. "We're down here!"

He heard Blaine's steps as he skidded down into the ditch. "I already called an ambulance and they should be here soon," he said, his voice too loud and desperate. "And your parents are coming too. Are you okay?"

"Kurt's hurt pretty bad," Finn said. He squeezed Kurt's hand. "Kurt, can you hear him? Can you hear Blaine?"

Blaine pressed himself against the car and tried to lean through the broken window, his hand stretching out desperately to touch Kurt's. "Kurt, baby, I'm here," he said. "I'm right here. Finn and I are going to make sure you're okay."

Suddenly Kurt's fingers went limp in Finn's grip. "Kurt?" he said. "Kurt, are you…I think he blacked out."

"No!" Blaine said, learning farther into the car. "No, no, no. Kurt, baby, wake up. Wake up!"

Sirens echoed across the deserted road. Finn closed his eyes in relief. "Blaine, he's gonna be okay," he said. "Go up there and tell 'em where we are."

Blaine took a deep shuddering breath, his eyes dark and terrified in his pale face, and ran back to the road. Finn held onto Kurt's icy hand. "You hear that, Kurt? We're gonna be okay," he said. He pressed Kurt's hand against his cheek. "C'mon, Kurt, just wake up."

Everything faded into a blur of noise and lights and pain after that. There was no choice but to get Finn out of the car first; they couldn't reach Kurt until he was free. Finn held onto Kurt's hand for as long as he could, but finally he had to let go, setting Kurt's limp white hand down carefully before they pulled him out of the car and into the chaos.

His parents were already there; his mother stayed close as they loaded him onto a gurney and looked him over. He glanced over to see Burt standing as close to the car as he could, arms folded across his chest and his mouth drawn down in worry. Blaine stood next to him, his hands over his lips.

The EMTs started to load him into the ambulance; Finn caught the nearest one's sleeve. "Not yet," he said. "I can't go. I need to see if he's okay."

"Son, your injuries-"

"I'm not going to die," Finn snapped. "I need to see that he's okay."

"Let him stay," Carole said, taking his hand. "At least a little while longer."

They waited as they tore open the car in an effort to get to Kurt. No one spoke. Finn clutched his mother's hand. It had been an hour since the wreck, and Kurt had been bleeding steadily since then. There was no telling if he was going to be all right or if-

Suddenly they were pulling Kurt free from the car. Finn sat up, wincing as his head swam, but leaning forward to see better in the dark. "Is he okay?" he shouted.

He could see Burt kneeling beside the lowered gurney, holding Kurt's hand to his chest. He leaned down like he was listening, then got up and beckoned to Blaine, who collapsed beside Kurt and rested his forehead against his.

Burt crossed the road towards them, his face looking older and more lined than usual in the flickering emergency lights. "He's going to be okay," he said, even though there was blood smeared across his shirt. "He got hit real bad in the side. There's a lot of blood loss and they're gonna have to do some emergency surgery when they get him to the hospital, but he'll be fine." He squeezed Finn's shoulder. "He was awake when they pulled him out. He said you took care of him."

"I tried," Finn said. He wanted to say that he hadn't really done anything- he didn't fix his injuries, he didn't get his phone, he didn't go back in time and make sure that patch of ice wasn't there. But Kurt was safe, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Ugggggh, now I am full of Hudmel brother feels.

I wish we got to see more of the two of them acting like brothers. We don't really get to see that. But I loved Kurt talking about it. We got that, at least.

BUT YEAH I JUST WANT ALL THE SNUGGLY HUDMEL BROTHER FEELS.


	114. Perfect

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Why are you crying?"<p>

Kurt rubbed his eyes. "I don't know, why are you crying?" he asked.

Blaine half-laughed, the sound wet. "I don't know," he said. "This song…god, I shouldn't be crying at a Pink song, of all things, but it just-"

"It's the kind of song that just makes you feel better when people spent all stomping all over you," Kurt said quietly.

Blaine smiled, small and pensive. "Uh-huh," he said. He flicked on the turn signal and reached over to squeeze Kurt's hand. "You know I think you're perfect, right?"

Kurt squeezed back. "I think you're more perfect," he said.

Blaine cleared his throat, blinking furiously. "Do you mind if I play that one again?" he asked.

Kurt swiped a stray tear from his lower lashes. "Not at all," he said. He raised their linked hands to kiss Blaine's knuckles. "But you have to do the rap bridge. I'm not touching that one."

Blaine laughed. "You can have the opening, then."

"Fair enough."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Ugh this is pretty much the worst drabble ever sorry everybody I'm a failure. :(

This was based on the line about "we like to sing this together in the car."

Hopefully I'll put my oneshot about Cooper and Blaine and the Sadie Hawkins dance up today and that'll make up for the suckiness of this one.


	115. I Have to Find Blaine

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"…so that's when I decided I needed to…" Blaine's voice trailed off. "Kurt?"<p>

His boyfriend halted in the doorway, the color drained from his face. Blaine stood up slowly, his conversation with Brittany forgotten. His heart clenched at the look on Kurt's face. "What's wrong?" he asked softly. "Kurt, say something."

Kurt's chest heaved and his breath caught in his throat, like there were a million things trying to come out at once, and then he just dropped his schoolbag on the floor and buried his face in his hands, sobbing as if his heart would break. Blaine pushed a chair out of the way and grabbed him, locking his arms around him tight. "It's okay," he said, his voice shaking a little. "Kurt, it's okay. I'm here. I'm here." He cupped a hand around the back of Kurt's neck as his boyfriend sobbed into his shoulder. "Sh, sh, sh. It's okay."

Kurt was still crying. Blaine pulled him closer, feeling his body sink and melt to his. He heard Brittany's soft sneakered footsteps behind them. "Is Kurt okay?" she said hesitantly.

Kurt's whole body shook. Blaine pressed his cheek to his temple and pulled him closer. "Honey, whatever's wrong, just tell me," he whispered.

"Someone stuffed the ballot box," Kurt sobbed. "They stuffed the ballot box so I would win, and now they want to suspend me for cheating, and I didn't do it, and I…I didn't even win."

Blaine wrapped him tighter in his arms. "I'm so sorry," he murmured, closing his eyes. "Honey, I'm so sorry." He pulled back, cupping Kurt's cheeks in his hand. His face was stark white but his wet eyes were rimmed in red. "You didn't do it, though. Surely they won't suspend you without looking into it."

Kurt looked up at the ceiling and laughed wetly. "It's McKinley," he said bitterly. "They'll do whatever they want, just because they can."

"Kurt, I'm so sorry," Brittany whispered, tangling her fingers together. "I wanted to win, but I don't want to make you cry."

"It's not your fault," Blaine said. He pulled Kurt closer, smoothing his hand up and down his back. Brittany left the room quietly, the choir room door closing behind her. "Kurt, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Why can't I catch a break?" Kurt sobbed into Blaine's neck. "Every time something's about to go right…it goes wrong. It just goes wrong. I'm never going to get anywhere."

"Hey, hey, don't talk like that," Blaine said. He kissed Kurt's cheek, waiting for him to quiet a little. "Hey, I know you're upset. You have every right to be upset." He kissed him again, his lips soft and light. "But not everything goes wrong." He smiled. "Remember when your beloved pet bird died, and then you lost sectionals?"

Kurt smiled a little, rubbing his cheek against Blaine's neck. "I did get a fairly decent boyfriend out of the deal," he admitted.

"I think I might be a step up from 'fairly decent,' but under the circumstances we'll go with that," Blaine smiled.

He led Kurt over to a chair and pulled him onto his lap. Kurt cuddled willingly, his long legs tucked up and his cheek resting on Blaine's shoulder. Blaine held him close. Later they could come up with a plan. They could figure out what went wrong, find out how to fix it.

Right now, Kurt needed him, and that was all he could do for now.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Uggggh, this episode made me cry. Poor precious baby Kurt. When they accused him of cheating I just wanted to scoop him up in a hug and never let go.

But at least he had Blaine. And he had to find Blaine before he went to anyone else for comfort. I wish we could see the scene...but since we didn't see it, I wrote it instead.

YAY KLAINE CUDDLES.


	116. Never Alone

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>He'd had the same dream for as long as he could remember.<p>

It always began the same way. He was walking with his mother, their hands clasped snugly, and he was small. He was always small when he dreamed about her.

She looked just the same, her soft brown hair tied back at the nape of her neck and a loose cardigan draped over her dress. He chattered on happily as they walked together, their feet making no sound, and she smiled, listening attentively to every word of his aimless child's prattle. Her fingers closed tight around his small chubby hand, and he felt safe. Secure.

He turned to point out some small thing, and her hand slipped from his grasp.

When he whipped around to grab her hand again, she was gone.

He stared into the darkness, his tiny chest heaving. "Mommy?" he quavered. "Mommy?"

He took a few hesitant steps. "Mommy!" he screamed. His voice didn't even echo. It sank into the dark abyss.

He was alone.

"_Mommy!_" he shrieked at the top of his lungs, voice rising in hysteria. He ran blindly, screaming for her, begging her to come back, but she didn't answer.

Without noticing it he grew older, taller. He froze, his hand still extended, still childishly waiting for his mother to come back and take it. Slowly he drew it to his chest, his eyes stinging. Tears dripped down his cheek against his will.

He was alone. He was always going to be alone. No one was going to come for him.

Something closed around his wrist, drawing his hand away. He started in shock.

"Kurt?"

It felt like a warm firm hand gripping his arm, bigger and rougher than his mother's but gentle nonetheless. He swallowed hard.

"Kurt, kiddo, come on. Open your eyes."

He obeyed and let out a startled cry. The familiar sanctuary of his room faded into focus, fuzzy and dim in the faint moonlight. His face was wet, and someone sat on the edge of his bed, holding tightly to his hand.

"Dad?" he choked.

He felt his father draw him into his arms and pull him in tight. "God, kiddo, don't scare me like that," he sighed, rubbing his hand up and down Kurt's back. "You're okay, buddy. It was just a bad dream."

Kurt buried his face in his father's shoulder, rubbing his damp cheek against the worn flannel and breathing in the comforting, homey smell of aftershave and motor oil and laundry detergent. "Dad, I don't want to be alone," he sobbed. "I don't. Don't leave me."

His father held him tight. "It's okay, I'm here," he murmured, hugging him like he did when Kurt was a small child. "I'm always here for you, Kurt."

He pressed a clumsy kiss to Kurt's hairline and Kurt sagged into him in relief, his hands gripping unashamedly tight to his father's sleeves.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Waaah, all my Burt and Kurt daddy-son feels.

I feel like Kurt was a terribly sensitive child, and he would pretend to be strong all the time after his mommy died, but he would have terrible nightmares and cry and cry and cry at night and Burt would feel so helpless, but he would cuddle his baby the best he could and carry him upstairs to go sleep in his bed, and that would be the only either of them got any good sleep for that first year after Mollie died- they just needed to be close.


	117. Poor Choices

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt buried his face in Blaine's pillow. "Leave me alone to die," he moaned, his voice muffled.<p>

"Kurt, you've got to stop eating things you're allergic to," Blaine said, exasperated. "My grandmother would've understood if you didn't eat that cake."

"But it's your grandmother," Kurt whined. He curled his knees into his chest. "I needed to make a good impression!"

Blaine bit back a smile and sat down beside his boyfriend. "My grandmother has seen enough pictures and heard enough stories to draw a favorable impression of you," he said, rubbing Kurt's back. "And yes, her peanut butter cup cake is amazing, but if you had just said that you were allergic, she not only would have understood, but she probably would have found something else for you to have for dessert."

"And then I would've felt bad," Kurt complained.

"Well, you feel bad now," Blaine said.

Kurt sighed and rolled onto his back. His face was pale but his cheeks were flushed red. "Will you still love me if I unfasten my pants?" he said.

"I'll do you one better," Blaine said, bending to kiss his forehead before getting up. "How would you like to borrow a pair of my sweatpants and curl up with a movie?"

"Oh, god, I love you," Kurt groaned. Blaine handed him a pair of navy blue sweatpants and picked a DVD off his shelf while his boyfriend wriggled out of his incredibly tight pinstriped trousers. "I don't want to drive home feeling like this."

"Neither do I," Blaine said as he popped the DVD into the player. "And I'm sure your parents will feel the same way."

He hit play, then sat down on the bed, his back pressed against the headboard. "Come on, come up here," he said, tugging at Kurt until his boyfriend was cuddled between his legs. "I picked Captain America."

"Again?" Kurt complained. Blaine kissed the top of his head, burying his nose in Kurt's soft brown hair, and rubbed his hand lightly against his belly. "Well…you might be forgiven."

"You're like a kitten," Blaine snickered. "Rub your tummy and you love me again."

Kurt stuck out his lower lip and poked Blaine in the kneecap. "Be quiet and keep petting," he ordered. "Make me feel better."

"Yes, dear."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****AREN'T THEY THE CUTEST?

This is based on Real Life Events. I have about eighty bajillion allergies, and this is based on my own experiences with food allergies. I gave Kurt a peanut allergy like mine- usually fairly mild, but he gets a bad tummyache if he eats too much of it.

And then there's Blaine to cuddle him and give him comfy pants and belly rubs and Benadryl till he feels better.

Related: when Kurt takes Benadryl, it completely knocks him out. And not in a particularly cute way- this is complete dead-to-the-world, mouth gaping, heavy snoring, unable to function when he wakes up kind of sleeping.

And yet Blaine finds it adorable.

TRUE LOVE.

Also, something I have realized- it's hard for me to write a Blaine sickfic, but if I get any kind of Kurt sickfic/injury fic prompt in my tumblr askbox, it's almost impossible to say no.

(My tumblr name is redbullandcupcakebatter, by the way!)


	118. Boxing

Author's Notes: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Stop it!" Francey seethed. "Stop it, you fucking little- just <em>stop!<em>"

She grabbed Blaine's wildly flailing arms, her hands closing over his skinny elbows. "I hate you!" the fourteen-year-old boy screamed. "I hate you!"

Francey held on tight, her fingers wrinkling his new, still crisply pressed Dalton blazer. Other students were beginning to stare as they tried to pass them on the broad stone steps that led to the parking lot. "Move the fuck along!" she snapped at one particularly unsubtle specimen. Blaine was growling with effort now, the sound low in the back of his throat. He dug his heels into the concrete as she dragged him along, prying helplessly at her fingers. She tightened her grip and gave him a firm yank towards the doors. "Move your feet, Blaine."

"No!" he shrieked. "I hate you! I hate you, you bitch, let go of me!"

She pulled him towards the doors, her shoulders squared as she swallowed the tears rising in her throat. All she had planned to do was pick him up from his fancy new boarding school and take him home for the weekend. That was all.

He had been sitting on the steps, hunched over in a little ball, his lips pressed in a thin white line. And all she had done was ask him what was wrong…and all had hell broke loose.

"Let go!" Blaine screamed, scrabbling to grab at her fingers. "Let go of me! You hate me too!"

Francey ignored him, dragging him down the posh Dalton hallways. She hated his school, all those rich boys in their safe little bubble. Little fucks, all of them. Not one of them could compare to Blaine. None of them knew anything about what he went through. They didn't see him staggering across the dance floor with blood dripping down his face as the music stuttered to a stop and everyone turned to stare, they didn't hear him howling into his pillow at night out of sheer terror, they didn't care that he was angry, _so fucking angry, _and he was helpless to deal with it

Worse…she was helpless to deal with it.

She'd only been to Dalton once, the day that the principal took them on a guided tour and Blaine clutched her hand as they walked, but she could at least find the gym all right. "Dalton has excellent sports teams," the headmaster had told them. "Basketball, baseball, fencing, boxing…"

She dragged her shrieking brother into the smallest gym and shoved him into a punching bag. Blaine tripped over his glossy shoes and stumbled into, catching hold to keep his balance. "What do you want?" he screamed.

Francey picked up a pair of discarded boxing gloves and threw them at him. "Hit it," she ordered.

He stared from the gloves to her, surprised into silence. "What?"

"Hit it!" she said fiercely. "Put the fucking gloves on and hit it!"

Blaine obeyed, his fingers clumsy. He slid his hands into the gloves, flexing them experimentally. "Hit it," Francey whispered.

He drew his arm back, his blazer wrinkling irreparably, and struck the punching bag. "Again!" she shouted. He did. "Harder! Harder, Blaine!"

He punched at the bag as it swung and jittered from the rafters. Francey stood by, hands clenched in fists at her sides. "Harder!" she screamed.

Blaine took a step back, panting, and with a roar he lunged, striking helplessly, again and again, off balance and clumsy but with so much fire she wondered how his tiny body could contain it. He beat his fists against it, his face scarlet and contorted in rage, and she knew he could see the faces, all those people who loomed above him and struck without mercy.

His screams of anger died away, fading into a tighter, higher sound, and suddenly tears were running down his cheeks. Francey took a hesitant step forward. Blaine was sobbing, his fists hammering against the punching bag, but the fury had drained out of his body. He grabbed onto the bag and pressed his cheek against it.

Francey clasped his shoulder and tugged him back. "Baby, you did good," she said. "Baby, you did so good."

He wrapped his arms around her fiercely and buried her face in the front of her shirt, sobbing in big ugly gasps. She pried the gloves off his fingers and kissed his sore bruised fingers. "You did so good, baby," she whispered into his palms as he cried. "It's gonna be okay."

"I want it to be okay now!" he sobbed. "Fix it! Fix it!"

But this wasn't a broken toy, or even a broken heart. This was a broken life, and she couldn't fix it. She just hid her own tears and tried to soothe his instead.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

So this is my headcanon about Blaine learning how to box.

I feel like after Blaine had cried himself out completely, Francey dragged him off to her car and he slept hard in the passenger seat all the way home. He was very limp and cuddly for the rest of the night, unwilling to let her out of his sight, and she didn't fight it. She didn't even question it when he showed up in her doorway at bedtime with his pillow and blanket tucked under his arm, she just scooted over to make room and let him sleep in her bed with his face scrunched half into her shoulder and half into her armpit.

And the next day she got him up and dressed and fed him breakfast and drove him down to the local gym, where she handed him over to one of her former boyfriends (a nice guy, just too much of a one-minded jock for her tastes) who was at OSU for a boxing scholarship. Blaine was terrified at first, and then he started catching on.

Francey took him to his boxing lessons every Saturday, until he was old enough to drive himself. And they had an unspoken arrangement that when Blaine came home past midnight on Friday nights with gashes and bruises and a bloody nose, she would patch him up without mentioning anything about fight club. They both pretended she didn't know about it, but she's smart. She always knew.


	119. Boxing Lessons

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine looked from his boyfriend, dressed in red satin boxing shorts and a white tank top, to himself in his sloppy gray sweats and too-tight ancient Dalton gym tee. "You didn't have to dress the part," he said.<p>

"I know, but it made me happy," Kurt said. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Well, put these on," Blaine said, tossing him a pair of boxing gloves. "That's the most important part."

Kurt wrinkled his nose as he slid his hand gingerly into a glove. "These are yours, right? Not the school's?" he said. "Because if I have to touch someone else's sweaty old gloves, I'd rather it was your old sweat than some random jock's."

"Yes, they're mine," Blaine grinned. He tugged the gloves over Kurt's thin wrists and gave him an affectionate tap on the arm. "All right. Now, I'm going to hold the punching bag in place, and I want you to give it a try. Right arm straight out. Okay?"

Kurt widened his stance, his arms pulled up to his chest. "Hopefully I won't break anything," he said. He took a deep gulp, drew his arm back, and whacked at the punching bag. "How was that?"

"…well, you're not _terrible…_"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Because Kurt would totally dress up for boxing lessons.


	120. Fight Club

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Puck plopped down on the curb, wincing as he gingerly probed his eye. The kid he'd just fought eased down next to him; he was favoring his right knee and Puck grinned in victory. He'd always wanted to try one of those sideswipe moves and apparently they worked- he'd bowled the kid over in one shot.<p>

Grinning made his face hurt and he quickly dropped it, cursing a blue streak in his head. The kid had gotten in a few lucky shots to his jaw, despite being a good bit shorter than him.

"Did I break your nose?"

Puck glanced over. "Not for lack of trying," he grunted. "'s still bleeding a little."

One corner of the kid's mouth tilted up in a smile. His face was miraculously unscathed, but one sleeve was ripped off his navy blue tee shirt and his track pants were spattered with blood. "Sorry about that," he said, although he clearly didn't feel that sorry.

Puck gestured towards his shirt. "Dalton, huh?" he said. "Where's that?"

"Westerville," the kid said.

"Never heard of them, but I don't know a lot of middle schools," Puck said.

The kid laughed. "I'm a freshman," he said.

Puck did a doubletake. "Sorry, you just…"

"I'm just short. It doesn't mean anything."

They fell silent. Puck shifted his weight awkwardly. "You're pretty good, though," he offered.

"…thanks. I guess."

They fell silent again. The kid's mouth was pressed in a firm thin line. Puck got the feeling he didn't really want to talk.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

Reember back in season one, when Puck mentioned that he was in fight club?

Yeah, that's all I could think about.

I totally feel like Puck and Blaine met way back then, and they didn't really get to know each other well, but they knew each other enough. And Puck always hoped things would work out for the guy, and he got really excited when Kurt and Blaine got together, and that's why he ships them so hard.


	121. Owls

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Little Blaine screwed up his face, shifting his brand new glasses on the bridge of his snub nose. "I look like a owl," he said unhappily.<p>

"_An_ owl," Francey corrected without thinking. Blaine burst into tears and ran up the stairs, his little feet pounding on the steps.

Their father sighed. "Frances, don't tease the baby about his new glasses," Jack said. "You know he's sensitive about them."

"I wasn't teasing him, I was fixing his grammar," Francey protested.

Jack frowned and pointed to the stairs. "Go apologize, young lady," he said sternly. Francey huffed and stomped up the stairs.

She peeked into her little brother's room to find him facedown on his bed, sobbing, his hated glasses discarded on the floor. Quietly she padded in and picked them up. "Found your glasses," she offered. Blaine made a pouty sort of noise and turned away from her, burying his face in his crossed arms.

Francey sat down beside him, crossing her legs Indian-style. Blaine made another pouty noise, more vehement this time, and scooted away from her on his tummy like a little centipede. Francey huffed. "Why are you so mad?" she asked, exasperated.

"You said I look like a owl."

"I said you look like _an _owl, but-" Blaine wailed and kicked his bed. "Oh, stop it! You're a very cute owl."

"Mmph."

"What?"

"Mm-_mmph._"

"Babbie, sit up and spit it out."

He sat up, his curls sticking up at all angles on his head and his face red, puffy, and tearstained. "But _Kurt _won't think I'm cute!" he wailed.

Francey sat back, slightly thunderstruck. She knew who Kurt was, of course- Kurt had been her little brother's best friend since they were tiny tots in preschool. Kurt was a nice little boy, almost pretty enough to be a girl, with the nicest manners she'd ever seen in a child that age. Plus, he'd almost outgrown his habit of crying at the drop of a hat, so he was more fun to be around than he'd been last year.

"You want Kurt to think you're cute?" she said slowly. Blaine nodded, his lips wobbling. "Why do you want Kurt to think you're cute?"

Blaine trailed one little finger along the quilted lines of his maroon comforter. "'Cause he told me at recess last week that I was cute," he said in a small voice. "And…and if he saw me with my glasses on, he won't think I'm cute anymore."

"I don't know, you're still pretty cute," Francey shrugged. She slid his glasses onto his face; the black rectangular frames amplified his amber eyes and made him look like a very small college professor. "Yep. Still kind of cute."

Blaine slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Really?" he sniffled.

She leaned in and nuzzled the tip of her nose to his. "Really," she reassured him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Ugh brb dying of baby!Blaine fuzzies.

Also, it is totally in my headcanon that Kurt was the kind of child who cried all the time. You know how there was that one kid in your elementary school class that always cried? They cried when they lost a game, when they didn't get the best grade on a test, when they wanted to go home, when their friends wouldn't play what they wanted to play? Yeah, that was Kurt.

(Related: I was that kid in elementary school. I cried during every single PE class through first grade and halfway through second. I was a delight.)


	122. Baby Sister

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt sat up. "Finn," he whispered loudly. "Finn, wake up."<p>

His brother snored on. Kurt picked up a pillow and chucked it at him, making him snort mid-snore and woke him up. "Finn, wake up," he repeated.

Finn sat up, glancing around blearily. "Whazzamatter?" he mumbled.

"Do you hear crying?" Kurt whispered.

Finn tilted his head and listened. "Yeah, I guess," he yawned.

Kurt slid out of bed, pushing the covers back. "Emily's probably hungry," he said. "I'll go get her. You go get her bottle."

"Why me?" Finn complained. "Mom can get her…"

"Dad's out of town and Mom worked all day," Kurt reminded him. "We can get the baby for once." He pulled his brother out of his bed and dumped him on the floor. "Get up. You get the bottle and bring it to the nursery."

"You're so mean…" Finn whined.

Kurt rolled his eyes and headed upstairs. The whole house was dark, and the clock in the kitchen ticked steadily past two in the morning. He tiptoed into Emily's nursery, her nightlight casting a pale green glow in the corner.

His baby sister sat up in her crib, tiny hands clutching the bars like a prisoner unjustly locked away, wailing softly. Kurt pulled down the bars and picked her up. "Hi, sweet pea," he crooned, settling the baby against his shoulder. He kissed her round cheek. "Ooh, you're hungry, right?"

He picked up a burp cloth and draped it over his shoulder, then settled down in the rocking chair. "It's okay," he soothed. "Big brother Finn is getting you a bottle. How's that sound, hm? A nice warm bottle?"

He rocked the fretful baby gently until Finn shuffled into the room, bottle in hand. "Here," he said, handing it over.

Kurt tested it against his wrist. "Can you turn the lamp on, please?" he asked.

Finn switched it on, filling the room with soft warm light. Kurt smiled down at his baby sister as she grabbed onto the bottle, her green eyes still rimmed with unhappy tears. "Isn't that better, Emmy baby?" he cooed. "See, you were just hungry."

Finn leaned over his shoulder, grinning as he booped the baby's nose. Emily frowned, still sucking on the bottle. "She's pretty cute," he commented. "She's got my hair."

"And my nose," Kurt added. He kissed Emily's forehead. "Aren't you a pretty girl?"

"Yeah, when she gets older, all the boys are gonna…" Finn's voice trailed off. "Oh god. Kurt. She's not allowed to grow up. She's gonna meet boys. High school boys."

"Like you?" Kurt asked dryly.

"Or worse…" Finn said, lowering his voice. "Puck. What if she meets a guy like Puck? With a mohawk and a nipple ring, and a juvie record…"

"Don't worry," Kurt said. "Between you, me, and Dad, this little one's not dating until she's at least forty." He nuzzled Emily's ear. "Isn't that right, sweetie pie? No boys for you. Or girls either."

Emily responded by spitting up all over her brother.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Here, start your day with some adorable Hudmel brothers and their baby sister!


	123. Under Different Stars

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>This was not a good sign.<p>

Kurt gathered up his French textbook with shaking hands. Jake, the mechanic who'd worked at his dad's shop since before he was born, stood in the hall with a concerned-looking Mr. Schue, working his oil-stained baseball cap in his hands. His craggy face was drained of color, and Kurt's heart pounded in his chest.

As soon as he reached the hall he was asking questions. "What's wrong?" he demanded, his voice high and tight, echoing in the emptiness. "Is it Dad? Is he okay?"

"No, kid, your dad's fine," Jake said hoarsely. The door to the French class swung shut behind them, shielding them from prying eyes. "I…I don't know how to tell you this…"

"Do you want me to-" Will began.

Jake shook his head and rested his hands on Kurt's shoulders. "Kid, I've known your parents since before you were born," he said. "I still remember when they brought you to the garage for the first time. You were so tiny, with your mom's big blue eyes, and your dad was so damn proud of you…"

Kurt hugged his French textbook to his chest. "Please, just tell me what's wrong," he begged.

Jake squeezed his shoulders. "There was an accident," he said, his voice shaking. "On Culver Road. The truck got T-boned, it was just…it was over in a second."

Kurt felt the world tip-tilting under his feet. "What…what happened?" he asked, his voice faint and alien in his own ears.

"Your mom's dead."

The textbook echoed as it smashed to the floor, sliding from Kurt's limp fingers as he crashed, unconscious.

He woke up in a few seconds or a few hours, he wasn't sure. His head felt thick and clogged, like he had been trapped underwater. He was lying on a stiff uncomfortable cot, a cold washcloth draped over his forehead. For a second he thought he was dreaming. That everything had been just a horrible nightmare, a sick joke.

And then he heard the voices.

"…father's been at the hospital since he got the call."

"How awful. She was killed instantly?"

"The crash snapped her neck. Drunk driver. You know how it is."

Kurt clapped a hand over his mouth, muffling the awful scream that ripped from his vocal chords. His stomach churned and his eyes burned.

She was dead. His mother was dead. She was never coming home. He was never going to see her again.

He hunched over on the cot, sobbing silently into his hands. All he wanted was to wake up and find out it was a dream, or a horrible joke, or…

The door banged open and he heard rapid footsteps behind him. "Kurt?"

He looked up, his vision blurry. Blaine seized him tightly, pulling him into an almost claustrophobic hug. "Oh my god, Kurt," he murmured, cupping a hand protectively around the back of his neck. "Kurt, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He clung to the front of Blaine's blazer like a child, sobbing helplessly. Blaine held him close, stroking his back and murmuring soft reassuring little things in his ear.

But nothing made him feel better. His mother was dead, and she was never coming back.

Nothing would be the same.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****This was a request for...well, a complete AU. Kurt was raised by both parents and then started dating Blaine. And then...well.

This hurt me to write.


	124. Blaine the Almighty Tickle Monster

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt was curled up on his bed, reading a book, fully absorbed in the pages.<p>

Perfect.

Blaine leaped out from behind the door and jumped on Kurt's bed with a noisy war whoop. Kurt shrieked, the book flying from his hands. "Blaine! You're- what- _eeeeee_!"

Blaine pinned him to the bed and tickled his sides. "Aha! I have you now!" he said.

"Blaaaaine, what are you _doing_?" Kurt howled, his whole body shaking with laughter. "I can't…Blaine, I'm going to die!"

"This is my revenge!" Blaine smirked, still tickling Kurt's ribs. "You thought you were going to avoid the wrath of Blaine the Almighty, but I-"

Kurt squirmed underneath Blaine, finally getting enough traction to pull himself up to the headboard and kick Blaine in the kneecaps. "You did _not _just christen yourself 'Blaine the Almighty'!" he panted, still laughing. "Oh, god, you're such a dweeb!"

"Can a dweeb do this?" Blaine challenged, and with one fell swoop he rolled Kurt off the bed, landing on top of him on the floor. He straddled Kurt's hips, still ticking him. "I thought not! You will never escape!"

"Blaaaaine, get off'a me!" Kurt yelped. Tears of laughter streamed down his face. "Oh my god, Blaine, I have to pee…Blaine! I can't breaaaaathe!"

Kurt's laughter was interrupted by a sudden ominous clearing of the throat from a shadowy figure in the doorway. Blaine froze.

"Get off my son."

Blaine gulped. "Um, hi, Mr. Hummel…I was just…tickling him…" he said lamely.

"Really, Dad, he was," Kurt said, wiping the tears off his face. "Oh, god, Blaine, you're sitting on my bladder…"

Blaine scrambled to get off of him, keenly aware of Burt Hummel's eyes boring into him. "There's…there's nothing I can do to make this better, is there?" he said.

"Nope."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****AUGH THEY'RE JUST SO CUTE.

And Burt is so overprotective.

In other news, I'm mad about the season finale! But I still love Klaine! Kurt is still my favorite! It's almost Chris Colfer's birthday! I have a new job (and quit one of my old ones)!

And Goodnight will be updated soon.

But first...I want to finish stripper!Kurt.

STRIPPER!KURT WILL BE FULL OF GLORIOUS SEXY ANGST AND ALL THE HURT-COMFORT.


	125. Honey Boo Boo Child

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Y'all?" Kurt teased. "Did you really just say 'y'all' in a sentence?"<p>

"It's a perfectly acceptable contraction," Blaine defended.

"In _Kentucky,_" Kurt snorted. "We're in Ohio. Nobody says 'y'all' in Ohio."

Blaine stuck out his lower lip. "I thought you liked my southern manners," he said.

"I do, I think they're very sweet," Kurt said, squeezing his arm. "But you just said the word 'y'all" around Santana Lopez. You're never going to hear the end of this. You thought the hobbit jokes were bad? She's going to start busting out every country boy jibe she knows. And believe me, with Sam around she's collected plenty."

"Plenty of people say 'y'all'," Blaine huffed as he rummaged through his locker. "And I _like _being a southern gentleman."

"Southern gentleman, yes, but 'y'all' is a gateway drug," Kurt pointed out. "'Y'all' leads to 'y'all come back now, y'here?' and that leads into 'y'all wanna go over yonder?' and then before long you'll have an accent so thick you'll need subtitles."

"You're just embarrassed," Blaine grinned.

"I'm not!" Kurt said.

"Oh, just wait. I can bust out the accent if I need to," Blaine said. He put his hand on his hip and cocked his head. "So now you can't be going around makin' fun a' me, honey boo boo child, or I'm gonna embarrass you so bad you're gonna wanna hide under the bleachers till the cows come home."

Kurt blanched. "Did you just call me 'honey boo boo child'?" he said.

"Bless your heart, honey, I can do so much worse than that," Blaine teased.

"All right, all right, you win, you win," Kurt pleaded. "Enough with the accent!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I TOTALLY BELIEVE THAT BLAINE IS A SOUTHERN BOY AT HEART. I MEAN, LOOK AT HIM. LOOK. AT. HIM.

He has to have been raised by a proper southern belle.

Also, Kurt needs all sorts of gooey lovey dovey pet names. I believe he thrives off of them. He can tease Blaine all at once, but I'm sure he loves it.

ALSO THIS IS A PAEAN OF PRAISE FOR MOREWITHTRUFFLES. Why? Because she reviewed every single chapter- lovely, long, in-depth reviews. It is beautiful and amazing and it made me feel so loved and OMG we're besties now.

Also, this is a completely different subject, but someone told me that this site is getting rid of the M rating category. Wha? I can't find anything about it on the website...should I panic?


	126. Pajamas

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>The front door swung open and Blaine summoned up his best cheerful grin. "Whateber you're selling, we're not…" Kurt started to say. He took one look at Blaine, blinked, and slammed the door in his face.<p>

Blaine jammed his foot in the door before Kurt could close it all the way and winced. "Kurt, let me in, please," he begged.

"No," he heard Kurt whine.

"Kurt, sweetheart, you're sick," Blaine said.

"I'll be fine."

"I know for a fact that the rest of your family is in Cleveland for Finn's playoff game, and I am not leaving you alone by yourself," Blaine said.

"I'll be fine."

"I'm going to count to three, and if you don't open up I'm calling your dad," Blaine threatened. "One…two…" He pulled out his phone and stuck it in the doorway. "I'm going to call him…"

The door swung open a little bit. "Come in," Kurt said reluctantly.

Blaine grinned in relief. "Don't you even pretend like you're okay. I heard you sniffling all through Warblers practice this afternoon," he said. "Now, I brought a bunch of things that I thought would help, but you'll have to…" His voice trailed off as he took a good look at Kurt.

"Don't stare at me, I'm gross," Kurt complained.

Blaine dropped his bag on the floor and pressed his hand to Kurt's forehead. "Oh my god, honey, you're burning up," he said.

Kurt squirmed away from him. "Please, don't, I'm disgusting," he protested.

"You are not disgusting, you're sick," Blaine said. He smoothed Kurt's sweaty hair away from his forehead. His boyfriend was still dressed in his school uniform shirt and pants, his socks sliding off his feet, and his tie was draped loosely around his neck. "Do you want to go get cleaned up?"

"Why bother?" Kurt sighed, sniffling hard and wiping at his nose with the back of his hand. "I hab a cold. I'm gross."

"Kurt, go upstairs and take a hot bubble bath," Blaine said gently. "You'll feel better when you're clean, and the steam will help clear out your nose."

"I've been blowing my nose all day and nothing's helped," Kurt said. "I don't think a bath is going to do anything."

Sure enough, his nose was rubbed raw and pink. Blaine leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose lightly. "I'm very sorry," he said. "Go upstairs and take a bath." He turned Kurt towards the stairs and gave him a gentle pat on his bottom. "Go on."

Kurt huffed, the sound breaking off into a rough cough, and shuffled up the stairs. Blaine sighed and unpacked the contents of his bag. He'd brought all the things he usually liked when he was sick- green tea, vapor rub, cough syrup, a few movies. Then again, he was used to his overprotective pre-med big sister fussing over him whenever he came down with something. He wasn't sure if he would be any good at taking care of a sick person. His mother liked to tease him about his hypochondriac tendencies, after all.

The water still wasn't running upstairs, and he finally climbed the stairs to Kurt's room. "Kurt? Are you doing all right?" he called.

He peeked into Kurt's room. His boyfriend was still trying to struggle out of his clothes. "I hate buttons," Kurt mumbled under his breath.

Blaine laughed softly. "Let me help," he said. He unfastened the remaining buttons and slid the white shirt off Kurt's arms. "Better?"

"Yes," Kurt grumped.

"Want me to start your bath?" Blaine asked.

Kurt flapped his hand impatiently at him. "Whateber makes you feel better," he said. Blaine dropped a kiss on the nape of his neck and headed off to the bathroom. He switched on the hot water, then tossed in a bath bomb from the artfully arranged bowl on the counter.

"There," he said, pleased with himself. "Kurt, are you ready?"

"Yes, now leave me alone," Kurt said, frowning.

Blaine squeezed his arm lightly. "I'm going to let your grumpiness slide because you're sick," he said. "Go take your bath. I'll have something for you to eat when you come downstairs."

"I'm not hungry," Kurt said, but Blaine propelled him into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. "I'm mad at you."

"I love you too," Blaine said sweetly through the door. "Now. Bath. Go."

He headed back down the stairs and washed his hands thoroughly in the kitchen, trying not to think of the myriad of cold germs that might be lingering on his hands. Hopefully he packed enough hand sanitizer to keep from getting sick himself.

He rummaged around in the kitchen cupboards until he found what he needed. Thankfully, homemade chicken and dumplings wasn't too far out of his meager culinary range, and his grandmother's recipe was notably fantastic. It wasn't long before the contents of the stockpot were bubbling. Blaine hummed cheerily to himself as he spooned the dumpling dough into the soup.

"Well, I took a bath. I hope you're happy," Kurt said as he thumped down the stairs.

Blaine glanced up and grinned. "In fact, I am," he said. He wiped his hands off on a kitchen towel as Kurt leaned heavily on the kitchen island. "Feel any better?"

"I'm fine," Kurt drawled, resting his head on his folded arms. He'd changed into a pair of thick fleece pajama pants and a V-neck shirt, and his wet hair was only sort of combed.

"C'mon, you need to lie down," Blaine chided, taking Kurt by the arm and tugging him gently to the living room. "Have you taken your temperature?"

"I'm not really that sick," Kurt said, lying down and turning his face to the wall.

Blaine pulled the thermometer out of his bag. "Open your mouth," he said.

"No."

"Kurt."

"I'm fine."

"_Kurt_."

Kurt huffed and opened his mouth. Blaine stuck the thermometer in. "Under your tongue," he instructed. Kurt rolled his eyes. Blaine busied himself with pulling the blanket from the back of the couch and tucking it around him until the thermometer beeped. "Mm…101.2. That's a fever."

"No shit, Sherlock," Kurt snapped.

Blaine paused. "Okay, look, I know you don't feel well, but there's no need for you to get so angry," he said. "I'm trying to help you, and to be honest, you're not really making me want to do it."

"Fine, then go home," Kurt said, pulling the blanket up to his shoulders and turning away from him.

Blaine's mouth tugged down. "I'll get you something to eat and then I'll go home," he said in a low voice.

He walked back into the kitchen and turned the heat down on the stove. The chicken and dumplings smelled delicious, but he wasn't hungry anymore. He ladled a decent-sized portion into a bowl and walked back into the living room.

"Here, I made you dinner," Blaine said. "There's more if…Kurt?"

Kurt's shoulders were shaking. Blaine set the bowl down on the coffee table and sat down beside him on the couch. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked softly, rubbing Kurt's back.

"I can't breave," Kurt burst out. "I can't breave, and my nose hurts, and I just _yelled _at you, and now you're going to leave."

"No, no, I won't leave," Blaine soothed, rubbing the heel of his palm against the small of Kurt's back. "I'll stay with you."

"I'm sorry," Kurt sobbed. "I'm sorry, I just…I'm not good at being sick."

"Yeah, I noticed," Blaine smiled. He tugged gently on Kurt's shoulder until he rolled onto his back, his face blotchy and tearstained. "What do you usually do when you're sick?"

Kurt shrugged. "Take medicine and go to school," he said.

"I'm not okay with that," Blaine said, smoothing Kurt's hair away from his forehead. "Nobody takes care of you?"

"Not since I was little," Kurt confessed. "If my dad figures out I'm sick, he stays home with me, but I don't want him to worry."

"Kurt, I'm sure he'd rather worry over you being sick than not realize until it's too late and you're _really _sick," Blaine said. "Did you pretend to be fine so that he wouldn't stay home from Finn's playoff game?"

"Finn was really looking forward to it," Kurt mumbled.

"This is not okay," Blaine said firmly. He smoothed the tears away from Kurt's face, cupped his cheeks in his hands, and kissed him on the forehead. "You just stay here and eat, okay? I'll put in a movie."

"Okay," Kurt said meekly.

Blaine helped him up and rearranged the blanket around him, then handed him the bowl of soup. "I've got green tea and vaporub too," he said. "And you're going to go to bed early tonight, all right?"

"I suppose," Kurt sighed. He poked his spoon into his bowl and glanced up. "Blaine?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Thanks for taking care of me," he said softly.

Blaine smiled. "Any time," he said, bending to kiss the top of Kurt's head. "Just please don't get me sick, okay?"

"I'll do my best," Kurt said, but as this was immediately followed by a trumpeting sneeze, it didn't seem likely.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I AM SUCH A SUCKER FOR CUDDLY SICKFIC IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY.

Like, seriously. This is like the 80th sickfic I've written. BUT I JUST CAN'T STOP. I LOVE IT TOO MUCH.

This was written for my sweet friend Katelyn, who requested something about pajamas. And since she loves sickfics nearly as much as I do, I COULD NOT SAY NO! She's one of my most favoritest people ever, and I'm pretty sure she liked this one, so...yay.

But yeah. Prompts with Lurty, Mollie, or sickfics...I will write them.


	127. Pure Imagination

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Mommy! I don't like this part!"<p>

Mollie glanced up from her book. "What part, baby love?" she asked.

Her terrified five-year-old ran pell-mell across the living room, abandoning his teddy bear and blanket on the floor in front of the television, and leaped into her arms. "Mommy, this part scares me!" Kurt wailed.

Mollie wrapped her arms around her sudden lapful of scare preschooler. "It's all right, KK," she soothed. She glanced up at the screen. Willy Wonka was leading his tour group on a boat down a tunnel and…oh, yeah, that was a scary part. She cuddled Kurt to her chest. "It's just a movie, baby. It can't hurt you."

"Mommy, I hate this movie," Kurt declared, his voice muffled in her shoulder. "It's the worst movie ever and I hate it."

"Hate is a big scary word, lovey," Mollie said, rubbing his back gently. "You liked it a little bit ago."

"Not anymore," he announced.

Mollie smiled and leaned towards the remote, balancing her little boy on her lap as she stretched to reach it. "I know you still like it," she said. "Here, I'll show you."

She rewound the movie to the room made of candy and hit play just as they were entering. "See, baby?" she said, turning him around to see the screen. "You still like this movie. You just didn't like part of it."

Kurt's protests died. Mollie leaned back into the arm of the couch, tucking up her feet and letting Kurt lie down with his head on her shoulder. He snuggled up close and stuck his fingers in his mouth. She stroked her fingertips against his back, humming along in his ear, soft and light.

"Come with me, and you'll see in a world of pure imagination…"

* * *

><p>Kurt sat silently beside Finn on the couch. "You know, I don't remember a lot about this movie," Finn commented, his voice sounding loud in the silence. "Do you remember it?"<p>

Kurt gazed thoughtfully at the screen. He vaguely remembered something, a baby's memory, hazy and cloudy and disjointed- just the feeling of pressing his cheek against his mother's shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of her gentle breathing, the way she smelled like strawberries and caramel popcorn, the light gentle touch of her fingertips smoothing against his back, the soft caressing tone of her voice as she sang softly in his ear.

"_Come with me, and you'll see in a world of pure imagination…"_

"I sort of remember it," he told Finn, but he wasn't just talking about the movie, he was talking about how ten years had gone by since the last time his mother touched him, kissed him, whispered to him, loved him, and suddenly his heart ached as if she had died only yesterday.

She was only part of his imagination now.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Aaaaaaaaaand...please enjoy your morning cry.

This was inspired by the Funeral episode in season 2.


	128. Saturday Morning Cartoons

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Burt sat up. "What the hell is that?" he demanded drowsily.<p>

"Hm?"

"There are noises. There are noises downstairs," Burt said. He leaned over the edge of the bed and fumbled around in the half light. "Where's that baseball bat…"

Carole squinted at him. "What day is it?" she mumbled.

"Saturday, I think," Burt said. He grabbed onto the baseball bat. "There it is…"

Carole huffed loudly into her pillow. "It's not robbers, it's Finn," she said blearily. "He's watching cartoons. Go back to bed."

Burt paused. "Are you serious?" he said. "He's seventeen."

Carole merely rolled over and immediately fell back asleep. Not to be deterred, Burt hefted the bat and crept out of bed. A ninja he was not, but he could at least be fairly silent on the steps. He peeked around the banister into the living room, ready to take a swing, but halted in surprise.

His two sons were sprawled out on the couch together, legs tangled up. Their hair was still mussed up from sleep, they were both dressed in their pajamas, and they each held a full bowl of brightly colored cereal. Finn waved his spoon towards the screen. "No, no, see, Leonardo's the blue one," he said. "He's pretty much the leader."

Kurt's blue eyes were glued to the screen, already wide and blinking rapidly as the sugar in his Froot Loops kicked in. "I like Raphael. Raphael's my favorite," he said. "He's got those two sai things. Those sai things are awesome. Where do you get sai? Do you think Coach Sylvester will let me use sai for our next routine? It would be awesome."

"They're sharp and dangerous, so yeah, probably," Finn said. He shoveled in a mouthful of cereal, making his words come out garbled. "Michaelangelo's been my favorite since I was like two. He's almost as cool as the Blue Ranger."

"But not as cool as the Red Ranger, the Red Ranger is amazing," Kurt said.

Finn rolled his eyes. "Nah-uh," he said. "Okay, after this episode we'll switch to channel 4, they're gonna show Power Rangers next, and we'll just see which Ranger is awesomer."

Burt hid in the doorway as he watched the two boys bicker lightly back and forth, munching on their cereal. For a moment he thought about going in there, maybe chiding them for being so childish, maybe remind Finn about coming into the shop for his shift later in the day and remind Kurt about that huge literature paper he had due.

But he watched his son laugh and eat sugary cereal and playfully kick at his brother, and suddenly he remembered a very small eight-year-old who would get up early on Saturdays to tidy the house and fold laundry and practice the piano, and when everything was done he would curl up by the old record player and sing along to old music, while the neighborhood kids who didn't want anything to do with him played noisily outside.

So Burt silently shouldered the baseball bat and headed back upstairs to bed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

eeeeeeeeee, all the Furt brother feels!

I just love Kurt and Finn as brothers. Kurt needs a big brother to boss around. And to take care of him when no one else will. They don't do much with it on the show- and actually, I don't like canon!Finn very much, he's a huge jerk- but one of the few things I liked about the season 3 finale was when Kurt opened his NYADA rejection letter, Finn kept an arm around his shoulder and was trying to comfort him in his own clumsy way. Eeeeeee brothers.

But canon!Hudmels are boring, so I'm going to keep writing my own awesome ones.


	129. Furt Cuddles

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Finn didn't glance up from his video game as the front door slammed. "Hey, Kurt," he called.<p>

Kurt responded by chucking his messenger bag into the wall, kicking his shoes down the basement stairs, and throwing his blazer over Finn's face. Finn paused the game and pulled the blazer off his face. "Bad day?" he inquired meekly.

"Awful," Kurt declared, savagely ripping at his tie. "Today sucked. Dalton sucks. Everything sucks."

"That bad, huh?" Finn said.

Kurt rolled up the sleeves of his uniform shirt and untucked it, looking decidedly disheveled. "Bad doesn't even begin to describe it," he said. "It…it…"

"Go on and swear, you know you want to," Finn grinned.

Kurt took a deep breath. "Shit," he said clearly. "Shit shit shit shit." He plunked down on the couch and curled up his legs. "Shit."

"There you go," Finn said. He patted Kurt's back and paused. "Geez, you aren't kidding. Your back is all knotted up and stuff."

"Yeah, driving over an hour to get home from school in rush hour traffic will do that to you," Kurt said, his voice muffled as he tipped his chin towards his chest.

Finn moved his hand up to the back of his brother's neck and massaged it gently. Kurt huffed out a heavy sigh and leaned further forward. "Ohmigad, that feels good," he mumbled.

Finn laughed as Kurt sagged towards him. "You're like a kitten," he said, rubbing Kurt's neck.

"Shall I sprawl on your knees and purr?" Kurt drawled.

"Nah, that'd be weird," Finn said. He kept rubbing the back of Kurt's stiff neck, massaging out the knots. And while Kurt didn't quite sprawl over his knees and start purring, he did keep sagging forward.

So by the time Carole came home, she found Kurt asleep on Finn's lap, his head resting against his chest. Finn had his arms around Kurt's waist, but was still playing his video game, peering around his brother's shoulder. "Hi, Mom," Finn said absently. "What's for dinner?"

"Pot roast," Carole said, slightly bemused by her two cuddling sons. "What are you two…never mind."

She bent to kiss first the top of Finn's head, then Kurt's cheek, and headed to the kitchen, making a mental note to tell Burt exactly how adorable their children were.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

OOPS MORE FURT I'M SO SORRY OOPS WAIT I'M NOT SORRY AT ALL WHEE!

I love cuddly Furt stuff. As I'm sure you've guessed. They're just so sweet.

I like to pretend that Kurt and Finn are super super close now that they're brothers. And they have warm milk and lady chats all the time. And Finn taught Kurt all of his video games (until Kurt started beating him, then he stopped giving him tips). And Kurt took Finn back to school shopping so Carole didn't have to drag Finn to the mall. And they're just super close and they're brothers and best friends and they love each other.

The closest we got in canon was Kurt saying "I love the big lug!" Gah. CURSE YOU, RYAN MURPHY.

(I almost said Perry the Platypus. Still not sorry.)

Also if you go to yukimono(dot)tumblr(dot)com, she drew the most ADORABLE artwork for the last chapter! IT'S SO CUTE. And then she drew comics with wee little Furt brothers AND IT'S EVEN MORE ADORABLE. THEY'RE JUST TEENY LITTLE BOYS AND THEY'RE SO STINKIN' CUTE.


	130. Big Sister

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"You do realize that you're the first boyfriend Blaine's ever had that I've actually liked."<p>

Kurt glanced up, startled. "Um…"

Francey sat down beside him. "Blaine had a couple of crushes before you, you know, guys he went out with on a few date," she said. "Nothing really serious. Well, except to him. Every time he started liking someone new, he acted like they were motherfucking married with 2.5 kids and a house with a picket fence."

"He…he told me about his high school relationships," Kurt stammered.

Francey kicked off her cobalt blue d'orsay pumps and propped her feet up on a chair. "His first crush was a senior Warbler, when he was a freshman. The jackass led him on because he thought Blaine was cute. Like a puppy he could kick around," she said. "He already had a boyfriend."

Kurt just stayed quiet.

"His second crush used to make fun of him all the time, in front of everyone. I didn't know about it until he invited himself over to our house, not knowing I was there. I pushed him in the pool when I heard him call Blaine a 'fucking midget pansy'."

Francey's arms were folded and she was staring across the ballroom, her lips twisted angrily as if she could still see it. "The last guy before you was a douche," she said. "Just a huge fucking douchebag. Treated Blaine like shit." She sighed. "And then there was that fucking Gap guy. But that was Blaine's fault for being so desperate that he would date a dirty hipster in an oversized mass produced hoodie."

She glanced over at Kurt, smiling slightly, and as her expression softened he could see her resemblance to Blaine that much clearer. "When he came home from school and told me he had fallen in love with you, it was different," she said softly. "It wasn't his usual frantic gushing over how hot this guy was, how awesome it would be if they were dating. He kept telling me how amazing and sweet and passionate you were. And his eyes…just kept shining every time he mentioned you."

Francey took Kurt's hand; he laced his fingers through hers. "Thank you for loving my brother," she whispered.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Blaine asked, strolling over to lean over the back of Kurt's chair. "You two look so serious."

Francey brushed a tear off Kurt's lashes with her thumb. "We just realized that the sashes on the bridesmaid dresses are the wrong shade of blue," she teased. "Such a crisis."

Blaine kissed the top of Kurt's head. "You planned an amazing wedding," he consoled. "It's perfect." He spun around and held out his hand to Kurt with a charming smile and a slight bow. "It'll be even more perfect if I can dance with my new husband."

"Fine, fine," Francey sighed. "I'll let you take him, since it's your wedding and all. But I expect a dance with my new baby brother before you whisk him away for all that naughty, dirty honeymoon sex."

"I'll let you borrow him," Blaine promised.

Kurt stood up, pausing long enough to kiss his new sister on the cheek. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear. "That means a lot."

Francey smiled.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Uggggggh, all the Krancey feels.

This is precisely my headcanon for Blaine- that he had a tendency to throw himself into all sorts of meaningless relationships but acted like the guy was The One every time.

Also, that his last boyfriend before Kurt was named Chad Dinkleburg.

Also also, I have Kurt and Blaine's wedding planned. Oops. No, wait, not sorry.

Also also _also_, I find it remarkable how much Francey swears. Because I don't really swear at all in real life. Like...at all. It amuses me.


	131. Pancakes and the Pouty Face

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Mollie blinked sleepily as the bedroom door creaked open. She rolled over to see her small son creeping into the room, still dressed in his rumpled pajamas. "Good morning, KK," she said drowsily.<p>

Kurt just sniffled loudly.

Mollie smoothed her hair back and frowned. Kurt's eyes were red-rimmed and his face was blotchy. "Baby, what's wrong?" she asked, sitting up. "Are you sick? Come here."

Kurt approached her slowly. "Mommy, I messed up," he whispered, his voice catching in a little sob.

"What did you mess up?" she asked, stroking a lock of hair away from his forehead.

"I was, I was gonna make you breakfast, and then…then I dropped the eggs on the floor, and, and, I spilled lots of milk on the counter, and I couldn't find the pancake mix stuff so I used the stuff in the blue box and it tastes yucky, and then…Mommy, pancakes are really hard to flip over!" Kurt sobbed, rubbing his eyes with his little fists. "I ruined Mother's Day! I ruined it! I'm a really bad son!"

Mollie swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled Kurt into a tight, secure hug, rubbing his small shaking back and kissing the top of his head. "No, you're not," she reassured him. "You aren't a bad son at all. You're the best son a mommy could ask for."

Kurt relaxed in her hold, sliding his arms around her waist and burying his face in her stomach. Mollie stroked his soft silky hair. "Only a good son would get up very, very early on Mother's Day and do his best to make breakfast for his mom," she said.

"It's not a very yummy breakfast, though," Kurt said, his voice muffled.

Mollie tugged him back gently so she could look at him. "Well, what about this?" she asked. "What if you come up here and go back to sleep with us, and then when Daddy wakes up, we'll make him take us out for breakfast? How does that sound?"

"What if Daddy says no?" Kurt asked seriously.

"Then we will be forced to use our sad faces on him," Mollie said, equally serious. "Remember how to do that pouty face like I taught you?"

Kurt stuck out his lower lip and looked up at her from under his lashes, his chin beginning to wobble. Mollie laughed. "Perfect," she said, tapping the tip of his nose. He laughed too, and she picked him up and set him on the bed. "Go back to sleep for a little while, KK."

Kurt crawled over her to settle between his parents, curling up on his tummy and sprawling his little legs out. Burt still slept deeply on his other side, his snoring making a deep steady rumble. Mollie laid back down on her side, pulling the covers over her little boy as he cuddled happily between them.

"I love you, Mommy," Kurt whispered loudly, scooting forward to kiss her on the cheek.

"I love you too, sweet boy," Mollie whispered back.

Kurt fell asleep quickly, his mouth dropping open as he snored just the tiniest bit, two octaves above his father. Mollie didn't fall back asleep. She curled up beside her son, smoothing his hair as he slept beside her, marveling at the precious child that was hers, all hers.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****BRB, ROLLING IN ALL THE BABY FEELS.


	132. My Child Looks Like a Lobster

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"…and that's when I finally told him, you get that Toyota outta my shop, you may be stupid enough to put in a Ford's sparkplugs, but I'm sure not," Burt finished, grinning as his brother and cousins roared in laughter. He took a swig of beer. "I'm telling you, I get the stupidest people in my garage."<p>

"You should move up to Iowa with us," Andy said. "We could always use a new repair garage around here." He glanced down at his watch. "Shit. We'd better get the kids inside. Marian said we had to give enough time for them to get cleaned up before dinner and the fireworks." He stood up and whistled, the sound carrying across the lake.

Burt set his beer aside as the various Hummel kids ran across the sand and lake grass to get back to their dads. He grinned as his son, the smallest out of all them, skipped towards him. "Hi, Daddy!" Kurt chirped, his brown hair streaked with gold from playing in the summer sunshine all day.

"Hey, scooter," Burt grinned, scooping him into his arms.

Kurt winced and tried to wriggle away. "Ow," he complained. "Daddy, your hands are hurty."

"Why's that, kiddo, I'm not…oh," Burt said. He tugged on the waistband of Kurt's little swimtrunks, exposing a half inch of skin that was decidedly white compared to the rest of his body. "Shit. Your mama's gonna kill me."

"Don't say shit," Kurt scolded, still squirming in Burt's grip. "That's a bad word. Mommy said so."

Burt stood up, carefully balancing Kurt on his hip. "Yeah, well, you mom's gonna say a lot of bad words when she takes a look at you," he said.

He walked back up to the house the family had rented for their fourth of July Hummel family reunion. The various Hummel women were bustling around the kitchen, preparing for the massive picnic dinner that was going to take place in another hour. Mollie was easy to pick out, her navy and white polka dress swishing around her legs and her long hair curling from humidity and saltwater. "Hi, Burt," he said with a smile, setting a plate of watermelon on the table. "How was…oh, my god."

"Hi, Mommy," Kurt said happily.

Mollie took him out of Burt's arms. "Burt Hummel, why the hell did you let my baby get so sunburned?" she demanded.

"Mommy!" Kurt said, scandalized.

Mollie brushed his damp hair off his forehead. "He's so sunburned," she accused. "I told you went I went inside four hours ago that he needed more sunscreen."

Burt shifted his weight awkwardly. "I got distracted," he mumbled.

"My child looks like a lobster," Mollie said flatly.

"But Mommy, I don't wanna be a lobster!" Kurt wailed.

"I know, I know," Mollie soothed, kissing his cherubically round cheek. "I'm going to give him a nice cool bath. And when he stays up all night crying because he can't get comfortable enough to sleep, I hope you feel properly guilty."

Burt never admitted his guilt while Kurt played with his cousins after dinner, his skin bright red against his blue shorts and white tank top.

Or when Kurt crawled into Mollie's lap during the fireworks and drooped on her shoulder, sucking on the middle and ring fingers of his left hand.

Or when Mollie stayed up all night with a feverish, miserable little four-year-old, making him drink ice water out of his sippy cup and rubbing green aloe vera over his stinging sunburn.

Or when Kurt slept in his carseat the whole way back to Ohio, waking up on occasion to cry weakly because he couldn't get comfortable, and when Mollie ordered Burt to pull over so she could move to the backseat beside him and console him as best as she could.

Nope, Burt never said anything about feeling guilty. But when he showed up a few days later after work with one of those kid size Power Wheels cars, the baby blue one with the Barbie logo on the back license plate, he did feel a little better when Kurt squealed and clapped his hands and hugged him around his knees.

And if Mollie smiled at him smugly while Kurt zipped around the block, complete with his mother's Ray-bans slipping down his nose and her white silk scarf tied around his neck whipping in the wind, well…Burt supposed he could put up with that.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I REALLY LIKE THIS ONE. IT'S JUST SO CUTE.

I wrote this because of another story. It hasn't been published yet, but I'm working on a story about Kurt finding out that his mother is still alive. (I've got about 25 pages done, but it's nowhere near completed.) Burt mentioned this at one point, and I had to write it as a drabble.

UGH WHY DID MOLLIE HAVE TO DIE?


	133. Carole Has Great Aim

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine had steeled himself for the first he would pick Kurt up for a date. He knew Burt Hummel was not a man to be trifled with. The word "flamethrower" had been bantered about on several occasions.<p>

He was not prepared to walk into the Hudmel living room and see an array of sharpshooting medals framed on a nice green background.

Blaine gulped. "So, uh…are those Burt's?" he asked meekly.

"Huh?" Finn asked absently, glancing up from his video game. "What, those? No, those are my mom's."

Blaine stared. "Your…your mom's?" he repeated.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "She did all these sharpshooting competitions in high school and college and stuff. She was pretty good."

"Pretty good" was putting it mildly, if the number of gold and silver medals was any indication. Blaine tried to imagine Kurt's sweet stepmother with a rifle in her hand, and failed utterly.

He heard footsteps on the stairs and turned around, a charming smile already setting on his face. "Now, you're going down to the levee for dinner and a movie, right?" Carole was saying, her arm around her stepson's shoulders.

"Uh-huh," Kurt said. "I should be home around eleven, I think."

She kissed him on the cheek. "Well, have fun, sweetheart," she said. "Call me if you're running late; I'll smooth it over with your dad. And I put an extra twenty dollars in your wallet."

"Thank you," Kurt said, pleased, as she smoothed the lapels of his jacket and kissed him again.

"Go have fun," she said, giving him a little push towards Blaine.

Blaine couldn't stop the stupid grin that spread across his face at the sight of his boyfriend. "Hey," he said.

"Hey, yourself," Kurt said, lacing his fingers through his. "We should get going or we'll miss the movie. Oh, wait, Finn, I have to tell you something-"

Kurt flitted over to the couch to talk to Finn. Blaine glanced back at the medals in the case. "I've got a lot of those," Carole remarked from behind him.

Blaine whipped around. "Oh, Carole, I was just-"

She leaned in closer. "I've got perfect aim," she said sweetly. She patted him on the back. "You'll have my son back by eleven?"

"Yes, ma'am," Blaine said meekly.

Carole smiled.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****This is actually inspired by personal experience. My mother was a sharpshooter and has a huge bag full of medals. We used to tease P about it.

Also, I just really feel that Carole adores Kurt and is super protective of him, just because sometimes she looks at him and remembers that he grew up without a mother, and it breaks her heart and she just wants to snuggle him. And I don't think Kurt minds that in the slightest.


	134. Protection

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>He could feel Kurt's fingers trembling in his grasp. Gently he tugged him closer, sliding his arm around Kurt's waist. "Hey," he said softly. "Hey, I'm here. I'm right here."<p>

He wrapped his arm snugly around Kurt's waist, guiding him into the classic dance position. Kurt's hand latched onto his shoulder and dug into the fabric of his jacket. Panic was written all over his face, and Blaine's heart ached.

_This is hard enough for him_, he thought. _He doesn't need to be left alone on the dance floor too._

He shifted gently back and forth, trying to guide Kurt into actually dancing with him. Kurt stayed stiff in his arms, his pale eyes darting back and forth at the assembled students. The members of New Directions had pushed themselves to the forefront, making a human wall to block Kurt from judgmental eyes. He caught Rachel's eye; she smiled and nodded towards him.

Blaine pressed Kurt closer and rocked him lightly back and forth, nodding his head. He smiled brightly, trying to catch Kurt's eye, hoping to see that stricken deer-in-the-headlights look fade away.

"Hey," he whispered. "I like your crown. Very chic."

Kurt darted a look at him, his lips lifting just a little.

Blaine's smile widened. "Do you know how gorgeous you are?" he whispered.

Kurt looked at him for real this time, relaxing a little into his arms. "Really? he whispered.

"Really," Blaine said, leaning in to peck him lightly on the cheek.

Kurt stepped closer to him, his eyes brightening and his steps picking up. "I always wanted to slow dance at my prom," he said.

Blaine dropped his forehead against the side of Kurt's neck. "Then can the next slow dance be mine, Mr. Hummel?" he inquired.

Kurt only laughed, his dimple popping in his cheek. Blaine stepped back to twirl his boyfriend, and for this first time he could remember, that awful lump in his throat seemed to disappear.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

As you can probably guess, this was based on Prom Queen.

Someone posted a gif of the moment when Blaine's dancing with him, and I just stared at it for ages. Kurt is just so scared, staring at all the people around them, his hand digging into Blaine's shoulder, and Blaine's just smiling at him, trying to distract him. And his hand is pressed to the small of Kurt's back, his fingers splayed out like he's trying to cradle him against him.

Ugh now I have all the feels.


	135. Fabricland

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"No," Kurt said flatly. "No. There is no way. No way on earth."<p>

"All Fabricland employees wear visors," his trainer said, much too cheerfully. She patted him on the shoulder. "Put it on and meet me at the cutting counter in five. I'm going to teach you to cut ribbons! Isn't that exciting? Ribbons! Grosgrain and satin and all sorts of speciality trims…"

Kurt looked at his reflection and grimaced- the white polyester polo shirt, the green cotton apron, the nametag that said "HI MY NAME IS KURT" and was bedecked with a banner that said "I'M IN TRAINING." He didn't really need this job; he made more than enough working part-time at his dad's garage.

"Think of the discount," he told himself firmly. "With the discount you get on fabric, you can construct the samples for your first real clothing line."

With a heavy sigh he pulled the visor on over his hair, messing it up in unforgivable disarray. "Thank God none of my friends know a hem gauge from a tapestry needle and will never set foot in here," he mumbled, and with a deep breath and a squaring of his shoulders he strutted onto the main floor of the irrepressibly tacky Fabricland outlet store.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****D'AWWWW, KURT.

I would pay good money to see Kurt in that getup. Poor wee lamb.


	136. Sand

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"No!" Kurt shrieked. "No, Mommy, no!"<p>

"Kurt, baby, it's just sand," Mollie said, exasperated. "It's not going to hurt you."

"Dirty," Kurt said. He turned up his nose and scooted closer to his father on the beach towel, brushing as many grains of sand away from him as possible. "Dirty, Mommy. No."

Mollie sighed and glanced down at her husband. "I don't suppose you're going to wake up and participate, are you?" she said. Burt responded by pulling his baseball cap further over his face. Mollie rolled her eyes. "Come on, KK, Mommy wants to play in the ocean. Don't you want to play in the ocean with Mommy?"

Kurt ignored her, studiously picking each and every grain of sand off his sunscreen-lathered skin. Mollie huffed, blowing her hair off her forehead. "Mommy was not trapped in a car with you for thirteen hours and six potty breaks to sit on a towel," she said. She scooped him up, ignoring his shrieks of protest. "We're going to go play in the ocean."

"Nooooo!" he wailed, clinging to the strap of her bathing suit. "No, Mommy! It's dirty!"

She carried him down to the edge of the water and set him down on the shoreline. He clung to her arms and drew his little legs up. "It's not dirty, baby, it's just the ocean," she coaxed. She scooped up a little bit of water and dribbled it over his shoulders. "See?"

Kurt burst into tears. Mollie sighed and set him on her hip. "I promise, lovey, this is fun," she said, bouncing him a little. "Stop crying, baby! You're okay." She pointed to a little boy playing under his mother's watchful eye a little ways down from them. "See that little boy? He's having fun."

Granted, she probably hadn't chosen the best example, because the little boy in question was absolutely filthy. Sand liberally coated his skin and his swim trunks, and there were clumps clinging to his wet curls, but he did look like he was having an awful lot of fun.

Kurt hiccupped as he watched the other child with growing interest. Mollie brushed a stray tear off his cheek.. "What if Mommy promises to give you a bath tonight before you go to bed, hm?" she offered. "You can play all you want now and get cleaned up later."

He frowned, considering her offer. Mollie lowered him slowly, her arms still wrapped around him, and he gingerly touched his toes to the sand. "Itchy," he commented.

She laughed. "Well, that's a step up from 'dirty'," she said. She kissed the top of his head. "Do you want to play?"

Kurt took a hesitant step forward. Water lapped over his little bare feet and he giggled. The other boy glanced up, beamed broadly at him, and ran over. "I'm digging a hole," he announced. He pressed a blue plastic shovel into Kurt's hand and ran back to his hole.

Kurt glanced up at his mother. Mollie laughed. "Go play," she said. "Go make a new friend. I'll be right here."

By the time they went back to their hotel to get dinner, Kurt was cranky from missing his nap, slightly pink on his shoulders and ears, and heavily coated in sand, but he managed enough energy to raise his head from his father's shoulder as they walked to the pier. "Mommy?" he said.

"What, precious?" she asked, catching one of his flipflops as it slid off his foot.

"I wanna play in the sand," he said.

Burt grinned, adjusting the tired little boy against his shoulder. "It's not dirty anymore?" he asked.

"No, still dirty," Kurt said. "But Blaine likes sand, so I like sand. I wanna play tomorrow."

Mollie brushed sand from the tip of Kurt's nose. "You can play in the sand with Blaine tomorrow," she promised.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

CUTEST. CHILDREN. EVER.

Also, I can totally see wee little Kurt being completely horrified by a beach. Because I'm pretty sure grownup!Kurt is horrified by a beach.

Also, all the Mollie feels. WHY DID SHE HAVE TO DIE.


	137. More Sand

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Ugh, I hate the beach," Kurt frowned.<p>

Blaine laughed. "You can't hate the beach," he said. "It's physically impossible to hate the beach."

"Well, _I _can," Kurt huffed, wrapping his arms around his bent legs and curling up tighter underneath the protective umbrella. "It's dirty, and I'm sticky, and the salt water makes my eyes sting, and I inevitably dump out a small nation's worth of sand out of my swimsuit when I get home."

Blaine leaned back on his elbows and laughed. "You make it sound like torture," he said.

"It's torture for me," Kurt complained. "Besides, you just walk outside and boom, glorious golden tan. I walk outside and bam, I'm a lobster."

"But a very cute lobster," Blaine offered, pinching Kurt's cheek.

"Flattery is not going to get you anywhere right now," Kurt said.

Blaine sat up. "You know what? I'm going to prove that you like the beach," he said. He stood up, brushing sand off his clothes. "It'll take me less than fifteen minutes."

"Ha," Kurt said flatly. He picked up a book from his tote bag. "I sincerely doubt it."

Blaine grinned and peeled off his tank top, tossing it into Kurt's face. "What are you…oh," Kurt said faintly as he pulled the shirt off his face and caught full sight of Blaine's bare chest.

"That's just step one," Blaine teased. "I told you. Less than fifteen minutes."

Step two- wade deep enough into the water to plunge himself under the surface and come up soaked, water glistening on his skin and droplets clinging to his curls.

Step three- buy an ice cream cone. Or better yet, a popsicle. Cherry. One of the really long ones.

Step four- plunk down on the towel beside Kurt, stretch out in the sunshine, and lazily lick at the popsicle, red juice staining his lips cherry-colored.

Kurt pretended to not notice, but Blaine caught him glancing over the edge of his book, eyes wide like a naughty child trying to get away with something. Blaine grinned wickedly and took a long slow lick of the popsicle.

"No fair," Kurt whined, lowering his book. "That's totally unfair."

"No, it's not, _I'm _just enjoying the beach," Blaine teased. He held out the popsicle. "If you come out of your tent and have some fun, we'll call a truce."

"Fine," Kurt huffed, scooting out from under the protective shade and taking the popsicle from Blaine. He stuck it in his mouth and sucked on it. "But if I die of sunburn and jellyfish stings, I'm blaming you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I was tickled pink by all the people asking for a sequel, because that's exactly what happened when I originally posted this on Tumblr! So here, have older!Kurt hating the beach.

And Blaine naughtily teaching him to like it.

Also, I realized that I've already written a drabble about little!Kurt getting stung by jellyfish. So yeah. Headcanon: Kurt hates the beach.

(unless Blaine is involved.)


	138. French Fries

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Francey set her menu down on the table. "I'd like the triple prime burger, medium, with no tomato and extra cheese," she announced. "And French fries. Lots of French fries."<p>

Lilah sighed. "Frances, vegetables…"

Francey huffed. "Fine. And a salad," she said. "But no tomatoes."

The waiter scribbled down the order and turned to Blaine. "And you?" he said cheerfully.

Francey fiddled with the straw in her sweet tea. Blaine looked down quickly at the table. "Um…the chicken fingers, I guess, please," he said into his menu.

"You want the kid size, right, honey?" Lilah said.

Blaine's cheeks flushed red. "No, Mom, I'm too old for that, I'm _twelve_," he said, clearly flustered.

"We can do the adult portion," the waiter said, still smiling cheerfully. "What sides do you want?"

"Um…I don't know," Blaine said, dropping his gaze again. He looked up. "What choices are there?"

Francey's straw slid from her fingers. That was no ordinary, casual glance that Blaine just did. That was a slow, shy gaze from under his devastatingly long eyelashes.

"Well, we have French fries, mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables…"

Blaine gazed up at the waiter, his cheeks still pink. She frowned. The waiter was kind of cute- early twenties, probably a college kid, blue-eyed and brunet. But why was her little brother-

"Francey, honey, you want your straw back?" Jack asked dryly. "It's rolling away from you."

She snatched it up, dropped in her glass, and took a long comforting swig of her iced tea. Blaine stammered out his order to the waiter, shy and awkward. The waiter didn't even notice anything, just swept up their menus with a smile and headed for the kitchen. Blaine's eyes followed as he walked away, the color creeping from up to his ears.

There was no doubt about it. Blaine, her baby brother Blaine, little Blaine who snored so loudly she could hear him down the hall at night and still sometimes played with his collection of toy dinosaurs when he thought no one was looking and sang too loudly in the shower, his voice cracking every other word, _thought a boy was cute._

She ignored her parents' conversation, fiddling aimlessly with her straw, frowning to herself as she tried to put the pieces together. _Blaine thinks boys are cute. Blaine might want to date one. Blaine might grow up to be gay._

Well, there was nothing she could do about it, really. The only thing she could do was…how was she going to react?

She glanced over to see him doodling a little on the paper placemat with a green crayon. Her shoulders sagged.

_He's always going to be Blaine, _she realized. _Liking boys isn't going to change that._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****ALL THE ADORABLE ANDERSIBLINGS FEELS.

I just love writing Francey. And especially since I've figured out how to work Francey and Cooper and Blaine together. Have I mentioned that yet? I think I wrote a drabble for it at one point, but I can't remember...


	139. Out of the Closet

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt tugged anxiously at his tie. He'd dressed up for the occasion, but now the bow tie seemed like a poor choice, because he was already having trouble breathing and the bow tie was <em>not helping at all.<em>

The door to his basement bedroom opened and he jumped. "Kurt?" his mother called. She walked down the steps and leaned against the railing at the landing. "Baby, I got your invitation. What's the special occasion?"

He tugged on his tie again. "Um…Mom, you should sit down," he said, gesturing at his couch.

Mollie raised an eyebrow but walked down the steps and sat down, crossing one leg over the other and folding her hands on her knees. "You're very dressed up," she commented. "I didn't know it was a black tie affair."

"No, no, you didn't need to dress up, I just wanted to…to look more grown up," he said. Kurt swallowed hard, wiped his sweaty palms on his pants legs, and pressed a key on his little computer. It immediately launched into cheerful music and a brightly colored powerpoint presentation. "So…um…well…"

Mollie tilted her head to the side. Kurt squared his shoulders.

"Well, Mother, as you've probably noticed, I have entered puberty," he announced. "Although…my voice hasn't changed, and I haven't gotten my growth spurt, and…" He faltered. "Well, I…um…"

The powerpoint shifted to the next slide and his shoulders drooped. How was he supposed to explain this to his mother? How was he supposed to tell his mother that he wasn't interested in girls? That he liked boys?

He didn't realize he was tearing up until his mother got up from the couch, her eyes concerned. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" she asked. She cupped his cheeks in his hands. "Honey, you shouldn't get this worked up over a raise in your allowance. You could have just asked us."

"I like boys," he burst out. He wrung his hands. "I don't like girls, Mom, I like boys, I like…I did this all wrong. I was supposed to do my presentation, and then I would say it right, and then you wouldn't hate me, and-"

His mother seized him in her arms. "Kurt, I could never hate you," she said. She rubbed his back firmly. "You're my baby. You'll _always _be my baby, if you like girls or boys or…or anything. Honey, I love you."

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his sobs muffled. "I love you too," he sobbed.

Mollie kissed his forehead. "Oh, god, no wonder you were so nervous," she smiled. "Poor baby. Didn't you realize that Daddy and I have suspected this for ages?"

He pulled away. "You what?" he said, horrified.

Mollie laughed, tugging him back into her arms. "Precious boy, you asked for a pair of sensible heels for your third birthday, and for your thirteenth you asked for a vanity like mine," she said. "We're not exactly shocked."

Kurt started to argue in his defense, but his mother was laughing, and he gave up his fight with a sigh, nestling his cheek against his mother's shoulder.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

WHY DID KURT'S MOTHER HAVE TO DIE?

WHY, RYAN MURPHY? WHY?

I BLAME YOU.


	140. Cheesecake

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Hey, babe, I'm back," Blaine called, slipping in the back door. "I'm sorry I had to miss dinner, but my lesson ran way over, and-"<p>

He stopped. Kurt was in the fetal position on the couch, hunched into a ball with his back towards Blaine. Finn slouched beside him, flipping channels with his mouth tugged down. Blaine glanced from one brother to another. "Cheesecake?" he said.

"Cheesecake," Finn said dryly.

Blaine sat down beside Kurt and smoothed his hand down his back. "Babe…there has _got _to be other ways of dealing with your emotions than eating a whole cheesecake," he said.

"Two."

"Two cheesecakes?" Blaine said, raising an eyebrow.

"Finn and Rachel helped."

Blaine glanced over at Finn, who shrugged. "My stomach's made of like…iron," he said.

Blaine rubbed the back of Kurt's neck. "All right, take your pick," he said. "Do you want to go sit on the back porch and talk about your angst, or do you want to go lie on the bathroom floor for a while?"

"…bathroom floor."

Blaine grinned and wrapped his arms around Kurt's chest, dragging him into a sitting position. "Then let's go have some quality time on the bathroom floor," he said.

"And sweatpants," Kurt moaned as Blaine slung his arm around his shoulders and tugged him to his feet. "These pants aren't the best choice to wear when you're eating your feelings."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I love that Kurt eats his feelings. He is the absolute cutest.

I also love writing scenes where Blaine babies Kurt. I feel like Kurt spent a great deal of his childhood trying to be a grown up so his dad wouldn't have to worry about him, so while he wants to be loved on and babied, he never consciously allowed that. But now Blaine is here to baby him. ALL THE KLAINE SNUGGLES.


	141. Wings

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"I've never met anyone like me before," Kurt whispered, staring at Blaine in awe.<p>

Blaine smiled. "There's not a lot of us," he admitted. He squeezed Kurt's arm. "Don't be nervous."

"I'm…I'm not," Kurt stammered, still gaping at Blaine's wings. The glossy golden brown feathers flexed and glimmered in the late afternoon light, hinting at the impressive span. Each feather was precise, wide and tapering to a sharp point. He was meant for speed, his wings the perfect living example of Bernoulli's principle. "When did you…"

"Oh, I was little," Blaine said. He shifted positions, his hand still resting against Kurt's arm, warm and steady. "I was…nine, I think, when they first showed up. Some show up as early as five, you know."

Kurt rested his chin on his bent knees. "I thought I'd avoided it," he sighed wistfully.

"Sixteen's a little old, but it's not unheard of," Blaine said. He nudged him lightly. "You're just a late bloomer."

Kurt didn't smile. He stared down at the ground, two stories down from their perch on the roof of the school. "My mother was one, you know," he said. "She…her family had them surgically removed, and she ran away." A corner of his mouth turned up. "My dad found her hiding at a bus stop and he brought her home. Then…she just never left, and they got married, and they had me."

"Did he know about-"

Kurt nodded. "The scars were hard to miss," he said softly. "I only saw them once, but…they were horrible. They never healed right, and they hurt for the rest of her life."

Blaine bit his lip. "I'm sorry," he said. He placed his hand against the small of Kurt's back. "I would never…never let that happen to you."

Kurt turned his head towards Blaine. "How can you live like this?" he whispered. "Hiding all the time, I mean."

"I don't," Blaine shrugged. "I tried hiding, but…it's just…not me." He smiled and patted Kurt's back. "You keep looking at them…you want to touch?"

Kurt sat up. "Can I?" he asked. "Doesn't it…doesn't it hurt?"

"The opposite, actually," Blaine said ruefully. He crossed his legs, his wings shuffling as he spread them wider. "Go on."

Kurt reached out hesitantly and touched the tip of his index finger to the silky feathers. Blaine laughed, not unkindly. "Don't be so nervous," he said. His wings opened wider, wrapping around them like a curtain. The light around them turned golden as it filtered through the feathers. Blaine wrapped a gentle hand around Kurt's wrist and guided him to touch his wings. "See? Just like that. Soft strokes down."

Kurt petted the feathers gingerly, warm and soft and silky under his fingertips. Blaine closed his eyes and sighed in a gentle hum, lips pressed together. Kurt curled his fingers back. "You're sure it doesn't hurt?' he said shyly.

"No, no, it…it feels amazing," Blaine said, eyes still closed. He opened them slowly, thick lashes parting, and smiled. "It really does." He cupped Kurt's cheek in his hand. "Hasn't anyone ever touched yours?"

Kurt shook his head quickly. "No, I just…no, no, never," he said.

Blaine stroked his thumb against Kurt's cheek. "May I?" he asked.

If it was anyone else, he would have said no. But without thinking he reached up and unbuttoned his shirt with trembling fingers. It slid off his shoulders, revealing the white bandages wrapped around his chest. "Only…only my dad's seen them, he helps me wrap up, but I-" Kurt stammered.

Blaine smiled, warm and kind, and tugged lightly at the edges of the soft bandage. It unwound slowly in his hands, baring the milky skin of his chest, and Kurt sagged in relief as his aching wings unfolded. "Yeah, the binding in the early days hurts," Blaine said sympathetically. "When you're full-grown you can get fitted for a harness, like mine."

The last coil of the bandage fell away and Kurt dropped his head in shame as his wings unfurled. They were still small, the white and silver feathers small and light and airy. Blaine smiled at him. "You're still growing," he said. "But…they're beautiful." He tilted his head to the side, watching the soft breaths of afternoon breeze ruffle the down. "May I?"

Kurt bit his lip and nodded at last. Blaine scooted closer and brushed his fingers against his wings, and Kurt drew in a shuddering breath, goosebumps prickling in a full-body shiver. "It feels nice, doesn't it," Blaine said. "See? It's not so scary."

"I have strange feathery appendages bursting out of my shoulder blades all of a sudden, how is it not scary?" Kurt said. He closed his eyes as Blaine stroked his wings. "Oh. Oh, it does feel…" He shivered again, and Blaine wrapped a feather around his finger. "You're the first person to see me like…like this."

"I'm glad," Blaine murmured. "You're so-"

A noise clattered behind them and Kurt jumped, wings fluttering in distress. "Is someone coming?" he whispered.

"Yeah, I think so," Blaine said. He stood up, looking towards the door that led to the stairs, and whipped around to Kurt, his hand extended. "Do you trust me?"

Kurt stared at his hand, fingers flexed, palm open. "Well, I don't know, I-"

"Do you trust me?" Blaine asked as footsteps echoed on the stairs.

Kurt seized Blaine's hand. Blaine took one, two, three strides and leapt off the edge of the building, Kurt's fingers laced through his.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****This is probably the most unusual thing I've ever written, which is saying something for me! I was prompted to write a wingfic, which I've never done before, and I just couldn't say no. I think it turned out fairly interesting! A lot of backstory spilled out in just a few lines.

Also, I watched Aladdin right before I wrote this.

Oops.


	142. Snowy

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Jack Anderson glanced in the rearview mirror. His ten-year-old son gazed out the window, his chin resting in his hand, his eyes still red and puffy and his wet curls plastered to his scalp. Blaine didn't say anything, but he sniffled loudly, his shoulders hitching.<p>

This wasn't what he had hoped for when he signed Blaine up for the swim team. His son was so lively, so precocious…surely putting him in an organized sport would give him space to work out some of his energy and make some new friends. And for a while, it had worked. Blaine was always chatting about one teammate or another, their inside jokes and the fun they had in practice and what they were going to learn next.

And then the happy chatter stopped. Blaine would get ready for weekly practice, dressed in his team hoodie with his goggles strapped to his head, already sitting in the front seat of the car while his mother got her shoes and purse and keys. And then he would come home silent and withdrawn, answering their questions dully and dragging himself up the stairs to take a long hot shower.

Usually Lilah dropped him off in the morning and picked him up at the end of practice, but this weekend Jack had offered to take him and stay. Some of the parents did that, he knew, the parents who didn't have a law firm to run and could spend time with their kids on a rainy Saturday. He knew he wasn't one of them, but surely Blaine would understand. Someday. When he was older.

But going to the local YMCA pool and sitting around awkwardly with all of the other involved parents, shifting uncomfortably in the white plastic chair while he breathed in the warm chlorine smell, proved to be more than just an unearthly long way to spend a weekend morning. It proved to highlight just how miserable his little boy was.

Because the other boys weren't mean to Blaine. They didn't pick on him, tease him, bully him. Oh, no. It was much worse than that.

They pretended he didn't exist.

He realized with slowly growing disappointment that those boys…they just didn't like his son. They ignored his cheerful greetings when he arrived, they blocked him out of their conversations, they offered only the requisite polite clap when he did well. He watched, stomach sinking, as his little boy's shoulders slumped and his smile faded.

Jack glanced in the rearview window again. How could they not like Blaine? How could his son- his friendly, gregarious, charming, funny little kid- not have friends?

He just didn't understand it. Blaine didn't deserve to be lonely. He deserved to be liked, loved- popular, even.

Before he had consciously made the decision, he turned right instead of left. Blaine sat up, peering out the window in interest.

They had already discussed this, after all. It was going to be Blaine's big Christmas present this year. Surely Lilah wouldn't mind if he got it a few weeks earlier.

"Where are we going, Daddy?" Blaine questioned.

"Somewhere," Jack said. "It's a surprise."

He took the back route, away from their house, and turned into the parking lot. Blaine was up and alert now, taking in his surroundings eagerly. "Daddy, where-"

"It's a surprise," Jack explained as he got out of the car. Blaine scrambled out of his seat and Jack picked him up before he could stray too far. "Close your eyes. I'll tell you when to look."

Blaine latched his arms around his neck, eyes, tightly closed in obedience, and Jack shifted him as he carried him in. It wouldn't be long until Blaine would be too big to be carried. Honestly, he was already pushing it, but he wanted to draw out the surprise for as long as possible.

He nudged the front door open, the bell jingling merrily above his head. The receptionist raised an eyebrow, but when he mouthed his question she nodded and smiled, pointing him in the right direction.

"Daddy, why does it smell in here?" Blaine asked, wrinkling his nose.

Jack smiled and carefully set Blaine on his feet. "Open your eyes," he said.

Blaine obeyed, his eyes widening and his mouth rounding to a surprised O. "Puppies!" he shrieked. He turned around in a circle, gazing in joy at the room full of puppies of all shapes and sizes. "Puppies!"

"Pick out someone nice," Jack grinned, smoothing Blaine's damp curls.

It took two hours at the animal shelter, an hour at the pet store, and three hours convincing his wife that it was a good idea, but when Jack tucked a sleeping Blaine into bed that night while a small fluffy white puppy snoozed at his feet, it all seemed worth it.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Poor wee baby Blaine.

I fully subscribe to the Blaine-is-a-dog-person and Kurt-is-a-cat-person theory. Blaine would want an exuberant fluffy puppy to roll around with and play and tussle with, and Kurt would want a demure, affectionate kitten who likes to be held- and preferably a shorthair, since they shed less.

(Related: I have a kitten named Hiccup who's a year old and the absolute cutest little devil ever. He wakes me and my husband up at 4 in the morning every day, but he also loves to be picked up and snuggled because he thinks he's a human baby and deserves all of our attention. I often wrap him up in a blanket and call him mommy's little purrito, which he doesn't find amusing _but come on it's hilarious!_

Also, I just spent five minutes talking about my cat. Sorry.

But he also likes watching cartoons (but not other television) and likes to play in baskets and oops I guess I'm not sorry.

Was I writing anything of any real importance or should I just talk about my cat some more?)

Anyways, Blaine's puppy is a white terrier mix and he names him Snowy, after Tintin's dog (because I firmly believe Blaine loved reading the original Tintin comics and went through a phase where he wanted to be Tintin when he grew up). And Tintin was the most loyal of loyal puppies and adored his little master (and tolerated Francey, who used to dress him up and make videos of him), and Blaine knew that Kurt _had _to be the one because the first time Kurt came over to Blaine's house, Snowy came right up to him and went to sleep on his lap, which he never does for anyone who's not family, and even though Kurt's a cat person he has a huge soft spot for Snowy.


	143. Baby Brother

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Francey, guess what?"<p>

The three-year-old placidly ignored her parents, choosing instead to continue chewing on her stuffed platypus's ear. Her mother sighed and took the toy away. "Francey, guess what?" Lilah repeated.

Francey frowned. "Mine," she said, reaching for the platypus.

Jack swooped his small daughter up and set her on his lap. "Frances, my love," he said, bouncing her on his knee. "How would you like a baby to play with? Maybe in February?"

Francey raised an eyebrow. "I wanna sister," she announced.

Lilah looked at her husband. "Um…how about a little brother, Baby?" she offered. She smoothed Francey's short black curls. "Wouldn't it be nice to have a little baby brother?"

She shook her head. "Nah-uh," she said. "I wanna sister." She brightened. "Or a puppy?"

Jack glanced at his wife, already six months pregnant with a little boy, and sighed. "Well, at least we still have a few months to get her used to the idea?" he offered.

Lilah got up from the couch, her hand on her belly. "You handle this," she huffed. "I'm going to go watch Pretty in Pink."

"Again?" Jack said. "That's the third time this month!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

It's finny because Blaine is a character in Pretty in Pink- in my headcanon, Mrs. Anderson watched a ton of '80s movies when she was pregnant. Hence, Blaine is named for Blane in Pretty in Pink, and Francey is named for Frances "Baby" Houseman from Dirty Dancing.

Also, this was based on the true story about how I, as a three year old, reacted to the news that I was getting a little sister. My first choice was a baby brother, my second choice was a puppy, my third choice was a baby sister.

Oops. Sorry, little sister.


	144. ROUSes

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"The boys didn't give any trouble, did they?" Burt asked warily.<p>

"Not a bit!" the babysitter said cheerfully as she gathered up her things. "I made them dinner, we played in the backyard till it got dark, we watched a movie, and they went right off to bed."

"I'm so glad," Carole said in relief. "Kurt doesn't care much for strangers, and Finn…well, Finn is a handful."

"They were great," the babysitter reassured her. "Not a problem at all. I'd be happy to babysit again if you need me."

"That'd be great," Burt said. "Come on, I'll give you a ride home."

Carole kissed him on the cheek. "I'll go check in on the boys," she said.

She headed downstairs to the shared basement bedroom and walked cautiously down the steps, hoping she wouldn't wake them. The boys were notoriously bad with babysitters, and if they were truly asleep like Rosalyn said, it would be a miracle.

The second step to the bottom creaked noisily. Carole froze, mentally cursing.

"…Finn. Finn, did you hear that?"

"Yeah. You think it's a-"

"Do you have the baseball bat still?"

"Yeah, I got it. You got the umbrella?"

"Uh-huh, but I don't think it's gonna do any good…"

Carole paused. "Boys?" she said.

The two ten-year-olds bolted upright, flinging back the covers. "Mom!" Finn shrieked.

Carole turned on the lights. The two boys were huddled in their beds, blankets around their shoulders, a baseball bat in Finn's hand and an umbrella in Kurt's. "What on earth are you doing?" she sputtered.

Finn scrambled out of bed, dropping the baseball bat on the floor and flinging his arms around his mother. "There's ROUSes!" he exclaimed, burying his face in her shoulder.

"ROU-whats?" she repeated, patting Finn's back in astonishment.

"ROUSes," Kurt quavered. He had his blue baby blanket pulled over his head and shoulders. "They're under our beds."

"Yeah, 'cause Rosalyn, she had us watch this movie-" Finn started to say.

"The Princess Bride," Kurt explained.

"-and it had these ROUSes in it-"

"Rodents of Unusual Size."

"-and Rosalyn, she said that if we got out of bed before the sun came up, they'd come out from under our beds and eat us," Finn finished.

"And I have to pee _so bad_," Kurt wailed.

Carole pulled the blanket off Kurt's head, making his hair stand straight up with static. "Go on, honey, go pee, nothing will eat you," she said. Kurt scooted off the bed and made a beeline for the bathroom. Carole sat down on the edge of the bed and Finn immediately curled up on her lap. "Honey, you're a little too big for this."

"But I'm _scared_," Finn whispered loudly.

Carole sighed and rubbed his back. "Sweetie, it was just a movie," she said. "There's no such thing as an ROUS."

"But Rosalyn said-" Finn protested.

"They're not real," Carole said firmly. She kissed the top of his head. "Now, how about I make you and your brother some hot chocolate before you go back to sleep? Would that help?"

"Yeah," Finn said. "And…and can we leave the nightlight on?"

"Yes, honey, we can leave the nightlight on."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

THERE ARE FEW THINGS MORE ADORABLE THAN BABY FURT. GAH. I LOVE THEM.

I was ten the first time I saw Princess Bride. I wasn't really scared of the ROUSes (come on, you can see the zipper) but I remember being shocked when Inigo Montoya said "I want my father, you son of a bitch!" I was a sheltered child and it was the first time I heard that word...

Related: My husband has a shirt with "Hello! My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." on i it. It's his favorite. He's adorable.

Also, Princess Bride is one of the greatest movies ever.

And in case you were wondering- Rosalyn was indeed named for the evil babysitter from Calvin and Hobbes.

Now I want to write more baby Furt terrorizing their babysitter. Finn would run around like a maniac breaking things and Kurt would cry and pretend to be dreadfully ill, and together they would cause ultimate mayhem.

I also feel like canon!Kurt, as a wee little boy, hated being left with a babysitter so much that he would make himself throw up so his parents would have to come home. I feel like that happened.

somebody go to my tumblr and prompt these things!

(In case you were wondering why I never fill prompts left in the comments...I only fill prompts left in my tumblr askbox! It's just a crapton easier that way...)


	145. He's in Love

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Mollie picked up Kurt's school bag from the kitchen table. "Did you finish your homework already, baby?" she asked.<p>

"Uh-huh," Kurt said absently as he puttered around the kitchen. "Mom, do you have any plans for the broccoli in the fridge? I might make a salad to go with dinner…"

"Do whatever you like," she said. She peeked into his satchel. "Do you need help studying for your English test?"

"No, no, I've…um…a friend is helping me study," Kurt said quickly as he yanked the refrigerator door open.

"One of your Warbler friends?" Mollie asked.

Kurt's ears turned pink. "Uh-huh, just, um…a friend," he said. "How about chicken tonight?"

"Whatever you want, honey, it's your night to cook dinner," Mollie said. "How about your history class? Any tests coming up? You got a C on your last one and that's not like you."

Kurt sighed. "It's all right, I just…McKinley was doing US history, and now I'm stuck in European history…" he said. He set a pack of chicken on the counter. "Can you quiz me on my dates, maybe? My notes are in the navy notebook."

"Sure," she said, picking it up and turning through pages of her son's crabbed cursive. "What era are you studying?"

"Well, we just finished the Renaissance, so-" He froze. "Um, Mom, actually, I…uh…my notes-"

It was too late. Mollie grinned widely as she studied the page.

_Kurt+Blaine_

_Kurt Anderson_

_Kurt Hummel-Anderson_

_Kurt Anderson-Hummel_

_Kurt Elijah Anderson-Hummel_

_Blaine Anderson-Hummel_

_Kurt and Blaine Anderson-Hummel_

"So many hearts," she remarked mildly as she scanned the page.

Kurt darted over to her, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Mom, please, you can't…that's _mine!_" he protested.

She turned away from him to get a better look at the page. "No wonder you're lost in history," she said. "Tell me, do you sit next to him or behind in him class?"

Kurt's ears had turned a brilliant scarlet; the color diffused across his cheeks and down his neck. "Behind," he said in a high voice, hands behind his back.

"I thought so," Mollie said. She smiled at the paper, fondly remembering her own high school days of writing _Mrs. Mollie Hummel _across math worksheets and science notes. "So you really like Blaine, hm?"

"Yes," Kurt squeaked.

She elbowed him lightly in the side. "More than Finn?" she teased.

"_Mother_!" Kurt gasped. His ears were beginning to look purple. "You promised you'd never mention that again!"

She laughed and tugged him down to sit on her lap. "So are you totally and completely in love with this Blaine of yours?" she asked.

"Mom, I'm too old to sit on your lap," he said, dropping his cheek against his shoulder.

"No, no, you're never too old," she smiled. She kissed him on the cheek. "You'll always be my baby, even when you're a hundred."

"What if I'm a hundred and ten?" he challenged.

"Even if you're a hundred and ten," she promised.

He bit his lip thoughtfully. "Even if I grow up and fall in love and get married?" he asked.

Mollie stroked his back. "You'll still be my baby," she said softly. "Even if someone else loves you more."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I really love wiring drabbles where Mollie hadn't died. Kurt would have been a much different person, I think, if his mother had been alive. And I think she would have really liked Blaine.

Uggggggh all the Mollie feels.


	146. High F

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Your son's a fag."<p>

Mollie didn't have enough time to react before the anonymous caller hung up. She stared at the ringing receiver in shock.

_My baby, _she thought, stunned. _They called my baby that._

"Who was on the phone, Moll?" Burt called.

She clutched the phone. "No one," she said. "Just…just…a wrong number."

Her knuckles turned white. She gritted her teeth and punched star-sixty-nine. It rang once, twice, three times…

"Hi, you've reached 278-3947. We're not here to answer the phone right now, but if you leave your name and number, we'll call you right back."

She hung up, grabbed a pen and a notepad, and redialed, this time copying the number down.

The front door banged open. "Mom! Mom, I did it!" her son shrieked. Mollie hastily ripped the page off and tucked it in her pocket. "I did it!"

"Did what, baby?" she asked, forcing herself to smile as her son raced into the room, pink-cheeked in excitement.

"The high F," Kurt breathed. "Mom, I hit it. The highest note in 'Defying Gravity,' and I hit it."

Mollie smiled, and this time it was genuine. "I'm so proud of you, honey," she said, cupping his cheeks in her hand. He beamed joyfully at her, and she smoothed his bangs back thoughtfully. "I love you so much. You know that, right?"

"Of course," Kurt smiled. "I'm going to tell Dad. Do you think he'll be proud?"

Mollie bent to kiss the tip of his nose. "Of course he will," she said. "Go on, go tell him."

Kurt raced up the stairs, shouting for his father. Mollie carefully wrapped her fingers around the folded scrap of paper, the phone call still ringing in her ears.

She bided her time, waiting until she was at work the next day- when the prank caller was probably at school. Her fourth period class trooped off to their next class, and she settled down to lunch at her desk, the crumpled paper smoothed out in front of her. It took a little while to build up the courage, fighting the anxious butterflies in her stomach, but at last she took a deep breath, picked up her cellphone, and dialed the number.

This time it only rang once.

"Hello, Adams' residence," a cheerful female voice said.

She sat up straighter. "Yes, hi," she said. "I received a threatening phone call from this number yesterday, around five o'clock."

"A threatening _what?_"

Mollie closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and pictured her son's excited, happy face. "Someone from this number called my house yesterday, called my child a disgusting slur, and hung up," she said. "I'm sorry, but I will not tolerate anyone harassing my son."

"I don't know what you were talking about, there wasn't anyone home yesterday except…" The woman paused. "No, football practice was out early. He was home. Ma'am, I'm so sorry. My kid…he's a damn stupid teenager. He and his friends were probably playing a prank. But that's no excuse. He ought to know better. Please, don't press charges."

"I won't, but I don't want it to happen again," Mollie said, her shoulders relaxing.

"It won't. Trust me, I'll keep that boy under lock and key. It won't happen again."

Mollie sagged into her desk as she hung up the phone. "If it happens again, I don't care, I'm telling Burt," she mumbled to herself. She hated confrontation. She could do it, but she didn't like it.

But it was all worth it a few hours later when she went to pick Kurt up from school. She could hear his voice from the hallway, clear and bell-like, and when he hit the note he'd been so proud of she closed her eyes, smiling.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Someone wanted to know what the Wheels episode would have been like if Mollie had been the one to answer the phone. And I think she would have done everything in her power to protect her baby.

And so Kurt got the Defying Gravity solo, and Rachel was suitably humbled and complimented him on his performance, and he got a lot more solos in Glee and Rachel learned how to share the spotlight, and then she and Finn didn't decide to get married as stupid teenagers and Kurt got into NYADA and everything was _so much better._

__/still bitter about the season 3 finale.


	147. Even

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt winced as he stood up. His spine had never hurt this badly before in his life. And come to think of it, his knees were aching. And his calves were burning.<p>

"You'd better improve by tomorrow night!" Coach Sylvester bellowed through the microphone. "I expect all of you to be here tomorrow morning at six for one last practice before the competition. I might have to add some obstacles, just to make sure you're on your toes. Becky, take a memo- we're going to need more jello."

Kurt limped over to his bag, his whole body aching. _I should have just quit the Cheerios when I had a chance, _he thought. He'd been seduced back on the squad with promises of unlimited solos and a personal letter of recommendation to NYADA by one Sue Sylvester (and besides, Blaine liked the uniform) but he hadn't been prepared for just how tiring it was going to be. Especially since Coach Sue had decided that merely singing wasn't enough- oh, no, he had to participate in builds. It wasn't so bad when they let him fly (basket tosses proved to be quite exhilarating) but ugh, being a backspot was going to kill him.

"You doing all right?"

He glanced over to see Quinn studying him carefully. "I'm fine," he sighed. "Just tired. Really tired."

"Being a Cheerio will do that to you," she said. She frowned. "You look pale. Are you just tired, or are you sick?"

"In pain," he admitted. "Whole lot of pain."

She squeezed his upper arm affectionately. "I thought so," she said. "Go take a hot bath when you get up to your room. You'll feel better."

"I doubt it," he said, shouldering his bag as he headed for the elevator.

Competing in the regionals for cheerleading was fun. Flying from Ohio to Nashville was nice, the Opryland hotel was beautiful, and they'd already been promised a day off to wander around the posh Green Hills area and maybe even check out the Ryman or something, but he was just so tired. Probably too tired to enjoy anything. Maybe on their off day he would just….sleep or something.

And maybe sleeping for about two days would help him forget that he was stupidly homesick. Really, honestly, stupidly homesick. Even more homesick than he'd been on the New York trip back in the spring.

He took the elevator up to his room, limped inside, and immediately crashed face-first on the bed, his bag falling from his hands. "Ughhhh," he moaned, incredibly thankful that as the lead soloist he'd been granted a smaller single room instead of sharing with another Cheerio.

He flopped across the bed for a while, knowing he needed to call his dad and text Blaine and get cleaned up and eat dinner and work on some homework, but he just couldn't move. In fact, he thought he'd only closed his eyes for a moment, but when he opened them again the room was dark and there was an uncomfortable (and embarrassing) dribble of drool on his chin.

He sat up, swiping it away, and reluctantly dragged himself to the bathroom, stripping out of his sweat-soaked practiced clothes and stumbling into the shower. The hot water pounded his back, easing some of the tightness, but even the soothing warmth couldn't completely take away his exhaustion.

When he was finally clean (and more than a little bit pruned-up) he forced himself out of the shower, switching off the hot water as he stepped into the steamy bathroom. He pulled on a pair of thick fleecy pajama pants and a tank top and stumbled into his room, hiding a yawn behind his hand.

"Morning, sunshine."

He jumped in surprise. Quinn was sitting crosslegged on his bed, her freshly washed hair braided over her shoulder. She was dressed in striped pajama shorts and a tee shirt with hearts all over it, and she was placidly flipping through channels on the television. Kurt blinked. "Break and enter much?" she said.

Quinn shrugged. "I know a few tricks," she said. She patted the spot on the bed next to her. "How are you feeling?"

"Still sore," he groaned, heaving himself onto the bed and flopping face first into a pillow. "I don't know how I'm going to get through practice tomorrow morning, much less the competition."

"You'll get through it," she reassured him, rubbing his back. "I brought up some dinner. You hungry?"

"Too sore to chew," he whined.

Quinn shifted around to rub his back with both hands, kneading his shoulders gently. He sagged into the bed. "I'm going to give you a backrub, you're going to eat dinner, and then you're going to go to sleep," she said. "Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled as she massaged his aching spine. He turned his head to look at her blearily. "Thank you for being nice to me."

She smiled, pausing to pat him lightly on the head. "You're welcome," she said. "Now hold still."

He sighed. "I can call Blaine before I go to sleep, right?" he said.

"Of course," she said. "Now seriously, hold still."

He obeyed. She rubbed most of the soreness from his muscles, coaxed him into eating the food she'd brought up from the hotel's restaurant, and stretched out beside him to give herself a French manicure while he called first his dad, then Blaine.

They were watching a movie on one of the television's many channels, his eyelids already drooping shut, when Quinn sidled up next to him, tucking an arm around his waist. "Remember that first summer after Beth was born, and you took me shopping before school started?" she said softly.

"Mm-hm," he said, dropping his head against her shoulder.

She brushed her fingers gently through his hair. "And we ran into that mother with her little girl in the stroller, blonde haired and brown eyed, and I started crying in the middle of Forever 21 and you pulled me into the dressing room and let me cry all over your jacket?" she said.

"Mm-hm," he said again.

She kissed the top of his head. "Can we be even now?" she asked.

"I wasn't keeping score," he said, perplexed.

She smiled into his hair. "I was," she said. "At least tell me you're less homesick now."

He snuggled closer. "I'm much better, thank you," he assured her.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I really love Kurt and Quinn friendship. I feel like they play off of each other very well- the scene in season 1 when she gets him to give Rachel a makeover is hilarious. They seemed really close at the end of the first season too, and I sort of miss that. I feel like Quinn would be a very protective sort of friend for Kurt, since he doesn't have a mother and she doesn't have a baby. So I tend to write them like that.

I've also referenced that moment in Forever 21 several times, so I'll probably have to write that out at some point.

Also, Kurt needs to be a cheerleader again the end.


	148. Francey's Turn to Cockblock

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Blaine!" Francey hollered. "Blaine, where's my comb?"<p>

She bounded up the stairs. "Blaine, you little shitass! Stop borrowing my hair products!" she shouted. "You've got enough brushes to stock the Titanic, you fucking don't need to take mine!" She banged her little brother's bedroom door open. "Babbie, I'm going to raid your bathroom, whether you like it or- _oh, god, you're naked."_

"Not completely!" Kurt shrieked, pulling the covers over his head.

Francey covered her eyes. "Oh, god, I just saw Kurt's nipples!" she groaned. "And there was a _mouth _on them!"

"Frances, get the hell out of my room," Blaine bellowed. He picked up a book from his bedside table and chucked it at her. "Don't you ever knock?"

"No, it's against my religion!" she said, ducking as the book sailed over her head. "Oh my god, Blaine, boxers, please!"

"I wear boxer_-briefs,_" he corrected primly, folding his arms across his bare chest as his mostly naked boyfriend continued to cower in shame under the comforter. "Now leave, before Kurt suffocates."

"Or dies of embarrassment," Kurt offered, his voice muffled by the blankets.

"Aw, don't be embarrassed," Francey said, jumping onto the bed between her brother and his boyfriend. "Everyone gets caught doin' the nasty at some point or another. At least it was me instead of…I don't know, your dad or something."

"Oh god…" Kurt moaned, wriggling further under the safety of the covers.

Blaine scowled at his older sister. "This still doesn't make up for me catching you having sex when I was fourteen and just trying to say goodnight before I went to bed," he said.

"Oh, yeah, I remember that," Francey mused.

"Or the time I caught you making out in the shed behind the house."

"That was fun."

"Or the time I came home from spring break early and you were doing it _in my bed._"

"Oh, god, your bed's been defiled!" Kurt squeaked.

Francey shrugged. "I just really like sex, you guys," she said.

"Yes, so do we, now _leave so we can finish," _Blaine said.

"Blaine. Blaine, that's not happening. Your sister is a bigger cockblock than Finn. I'm probably not going to be able to get it up again until Christmas."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Because of course Francey is a cockblock.


	149. Kurt Eats His Feelings

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Why are you freaking out?" Blaine asked as he pulled out of the McKinley parking lot.<p>

"I'm not freaking out," Kurt said, sliding lower in the passenger seat, arms folded across his chest. "Let's just go grab dinner, okay? I'm starving."

"You're sure you don't want to talk about it?" Blaine asked warily. "You really wanted that solo and-"

"Just drive somewhere that has food," Kurt said.

Blaine glanced over at him and bit his lip. "Sonic okay?" he asked. "I'm in the mood for mozzarella sticks."

"Sure, yes, fine, whatever."

They fell silent. Blaine kept glancing over to check on Kurt. He was kind of pale, and he kept worrying at his lip. _He really wanted that solo, _he thought. _He must be pretty upset._

He pulled into a drive-through slot and parked. "Hey," he said, squeezing Kurt's knee. "I'll pay today. Order whatever you want."

"No, no, that's okay," Kurt sighed. "I'll order for myself. Thanks though." He rested his chin on Blaine's shoulder. "You can go ahead and order first."

Blaine frowned. "All right, if you're sure," he said. He leaned forward and hit the button, placing his usual order of a cheeseburger with mayo, mozzarella cheese sticks, and a strawberry limeade. Once he'd swiped his card and paid, he turned around and pinched Kurt's arm affectionately. "Your turn. Sure you don't want me to pay?"

"You're very sweet, but I'm sure," Kurt said. He unbuckled his seatbelt, squirmed to reach over Blaine, and pressed the red order button.

"Welcome to Sonic, can I take your order?"

"Yeah, um, hi," Kurt said. "I'd like a grilled chicken salad…and mozzarella sticks…and an order of tater tots…and a Route 44-sized lemonberry creamslush." He sat back on his heels to whisper in Blaine's ear. "We weren't planning on making out later, were we?"

"Um, we didn't have plans, per se, but-" Blaine started to say.

Kurt leaned back towards the window. "And an order of onion rings," he said. "Please."

The tinny voice rattled the order back to him; Kurt confirmed it and swiped his card. Blaine blinked. "Kurt, did you not eat anything today?" he asked.

Kurt settled back into the passenger seat, worrying at his lip. "Yes, but I…" He screwed up his face. "Blaine, I really wanted that solo."

Blaine pulled him into a hug, letting him rest his cheek against his shoulder. "Poor kid," he said sympathetically, rubbing Kurt's back.

"I just want to eat my feelings," Kurt mumbled into Blaine's chest.

Blaine hid a smile by kissing the top of Kurt's head. "Here's my plan," he said. "How about we sit here in my car and eat everything we can get our hands on while you vent about how badly you wanted the solo, and tomorrow morning we'll go for a run in the park to compensate for how guilty you're going to feel for eating so much."

"You know me so well," Kurt sighed. He leaned back, the skin around his eyes still pinched. "Can we also have an addendum where you're okay with me curled up on the fetal position on the couch because I ate too much and my stomach hurts?"

"We can," Blaine said. He nuzzled Kurt's nose. "And I also promise not to judge if you puke."

"True love," Kurt sighed. He sat up. "Ooh, look, they're bringing our food, and I swear, Blaine, if you try to take my onion rings I'm going to stab you with a fork."

"Is this part of the true love?" Blaine quipped.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Can I just say that I love that Kurt eats his feelings? It makes him so much more human. And also adorable. Come here, Kurt, I will feed you and love you.

Also, Blaine's order at Sonic is my usual order. We're at the point now that if my husband pops by Sonic to get food, he's just like "you want your usual?" and I'm like "...yes."

Also, we refer to it as my "us", pronounced "yoosh." Like in iCarly. Because Dan Schneider shows are awesome.

Related: I'm very picky about sandals and the only pair I own are iCarly. They fasten with velcro and have Miranda Cosgrove's face on the sole.

They're size 4 1/2 in childrens.

I CAN DENY IT NO LONGER. I AM SMALL.

This had nothing to do with the drabble.


	150. Swings

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"No," Kurt said flatly. "No, I'm not getting on the swings. Absolutely not."<p>

"Please?" Blaine pleaded. He clasped his hands together. "Don't you want to swing with me?"

Kurt sighed heavily. "When you asked me to come over this afternoon, I didn't know playing on your childhood swingset was on the schedule," he said. He gestured to himself. "I didn't dress the part." He crossed his arms. "I should have guessed that something was up when you answered the door dressed like that."

Blaine grinned. His hair curled wildly around his ears, his old Dalton gym class tee shirt was slightly too small, his cargo shorts had a large hole in the back pocket, and his flipflops could only be described as ratty. "It's the first day of summer vacation," he said. "Don't you want to just chill out a little? Relax?"

"I can manage that just fine in, say, an air conditioned movie theater," Kurt suggested. "Or an air conditioned mall. Or an air conditioned-"

Blaine tapped the pad of his finger to Kurt's lips. "Stop talking and close your eyes," he said.

"You want me to what?" Kurt said.

"Lips shut. Eyes closed," Blaine said, smiling. Kurt sighed and obeyed.

He felt the gentle touch of fingers against the buttons of his shirt. "But Blaine, I-"

Blaine kissed him softly. "No talking," he said.

Kurt stifled another sigh as Blaine slid his shirt off his arms. "Please don't throw my clothes on the floor," he begged.

Blaine covered his mouth with his hand. "No talking!" he said, the laugh echoing in his voice. "Sh."

Kurt submitted himself to Blaine stripping him down to his undershirt, unfastening his belt, and untying his jaunty scarf. His fingers plucked at the laces of his boots; Kurt leaned his hand on Blaine's shoulder as he slid his shoes and socks off.

"Are you done yet?" Kurt asked.

"Not quite," Blaine said. Kurt jumped in surprise as his hair was suddenly and violently ruffled. "There we go! Now, open your eyes and let's go."

Kurt did, frowning. "Go where?" he asked.

Blaine slid his arms around Kurt's waist, tugging him closer. "You are now dressed in a tank top and jeans," he said. "Your boots won't get scuffed because I've eliminated that problem. And your hair is already hopelessly, adorably messed up. Now will you _please _come play on the swings with me?"

Kurt huffed. "Fine," he said.

Blaine grabbed his hand, squeezing his fingers tightly, and ran down the stairs, dragging Kurt behind him. "C'mon, this'll be fun," he said, skidding through the living room and out the sliding glass door to the backyard.

"Careful, I'm going to get splinters," Kurt scolded, stepping cautiously across the wooden deck. "What's so great about these swings? Are they made of gold and can fly you to the moon?"

"No," Blaine said, squeezing Kurt's hand as they walked across the soft cool grass, early summer sunshine warming their shoulders. "My dad built the swingset the summer after I was born. My mom used to take me and my sister out here in the afternoons- let us have picnic lunches on the lawn, watch us play on the slide-"

"Pushed you on the swings?" Kurt finished softly.

Blaine smiled fondly at the cedar wood swingset, the colorful plastic swings faded with age but the supports still sturdy. "Uh-huh," he said. "My dad almost never came out here to play with us, but I knew he still loved me and Francey. I mean, what dad would build an awesome swingset like this with his own two hands if he didn't love his kids?" He tilted his head, his smile growing wistful as he surveyed the playscape. "I really want to build a swingset for my kids. You know, when we…when I eventually have kids."

Kurt gently squeezed Blaine's fingers, rubbing his thumb across the back of his hand. "Mostly so you can still have an excuse to play on them too?" he teased.

"Yeah, that would be a nice perk," Blaine admitted, grinning right back.

Kurt pulled his hand from Blaine's, slapped him playfully across his ass, and ran for the swings. "I call the red one!" he said, plunking down in the plastic swing and giving himself a push.

"No fair! The red one's mine!" Blaine said. Kurt laughed, pumping his legs back and forth as the breeze ruffled his hair. "You can have the blue one! C'mon, Kurt, give me the red one!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Adorable boys are adorable.

Eeeeeeeeeee I want to snuggle them.


	151. Boy Troubles

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Kurt, I need to talk to you," Emily announced. She stomped into the living room and jumped onto the couch, crawling over her father's lap to get to Kurt. "'Scuse me, Daddy, I have to talk to my brother."<p>

"What's so important, pumpkin?" Burt asked, smoothing his seven-year-old daughter's unruly long hair as she clambered over his knees and plunked down on Kurt's lap. "Can you wait till a commercial break?"

"No, please, Emmy, save me from the football game," Kurt said. He settled his little sister on his knees. "Tell me what the trouble is."

She cupped his face in her hands, pressing the tip of her nose to his. "I need you to tell me about boys," she said solemnly.

Burt choked. "What the-"

"Emily, do you have your first crush?" Kurt teased, tickling her playfully. "Tell me all about it."

"His name is Davis and he's _beautiful_," Emily said. "He's got red curly hair and green eyes and he always gives me his Capri Sun at snacktime."

"That's true love right there," Kurt said dryly. He sat up a little straighter and cleared his throat. "Now, honey, what are your intentions with this boy? Do you want to be his girlfriend, or marry him, or-"

Emily shrugged. "I dunno, I'm seven," she said. "I just want him to like me best."

Kurt laughed and hugged her. "Well, then, my best advice is to treat him like he's special," he said. "If you think he's beautiful and wonderful, then treat him like he's beautiful and wonderful. And if he's a nice boy and feels the same, then he'll treat you like that too."

Emily smiled. "I can do that," she said confidently. She gave Kurt a tight hug. "I'm gonna make Davis a card for Valentine's Day. Will he like that?"

"He'll love it," Kurt assured her.

Finn sidled in from the kitchen. "Who'll love what?" he asked, handing Burt a bottle of Diet Coke.

"Emily's asking Kurt for boy advice," Burt grumbled. "I'm too old for this, princess. And you're too young."

"Oh, it's just puppy love," Kurt said, tossing a kernel of popcorn at his father.

Finn frowned. "Why didn't you ask me for boy advice, Emmy?" he asked. "I give good advice."

"Yeah, but Kurt's _married _to a boy," Emily reminded him. "You're married to a girl. If I wanted girl advice, I can ask you, but Kurt knows _everything _about boys."

"From the mouths of babes," Kurt grinned, pinching Emily's cheek.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****UGH WHY DIDNT THEY GIVE BURT AND CAROLE AN OOPS BABY? It would have been fantastic.

Also, I feel like Emily grew up without even realizing there was a difference between her two brothers. Finn is married to a girl and Kurt is married to a boy and...whatever, it's all good. I feel like she didn't even think anything was different until she got to school and people started side-eyeing her when she brought in her family tree project.

although I have an idea for an AU story that involves Emily as a teenager, and I actually have a scene in my head where she discusses her family tree and its convoluted branches. Especially since by then she has several nieces and nephews and she has to explain where they came from.

Emily as a teenager is _delightful. _If I didn't have approximately 387 unfinished stories, I would start writing that one. It's been in my head for at least a year and a half. Basically I want to write about what things would look like if Terri Schuester had been able to successfully adopt Quinn and Puck's baby and pass her off as her own. THERE IS ANGST THERE.

Maybe I'll write it as like a oneshot or something. Should I?


	152. History Repeating

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine clenched his hands around the coffee cup. "So…that's why he's been sick?" he said, his voice cracking.<p>

Burt nodded, staring at the pattern of the kitchen table. "Uh-huh," he said. "He let us think that he'd just come down with the stomach flu this past weekend, but…this has been going for a while."

"Why didn't he tell anyone?" Blaine asked. _Why didn't he tell me? _he wanted to say.

"He remembers what it was like for his mom," Burt said quietly. "She was diagnosed in December…we lost her in May."

"Is Kurt-"

"No," Burt said firmly. "Not him. He's not nearly as bad off." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Mollie…Kurt's mama, she was really sick. Sick enough that the doctors were concerned about her surviving the surgery."

"What surgery?" Blaine asked. "If…if you don't mind me asking…"

"They wanted to remove her colon," Burt said. "Take out what was causing the infection and rewire everything. She just wasn't strong enough. They put her on medications, bed rest…said they could operate in June if she didn't have a flare-up." He dragged his hand over his face. "God, I still remember…the pharmacist pulled me aside when I was getting her prescriptions filled…they were concerned. Said one of the medications was usually given to heart transplant patients."

"Will Kurt need surgery?" Blaine asked, his voice small.

"I don't know," Burt said. "UC isn't usually lethal. Usually it's just…an annoying inconvenience. Something you learn to live with and manage. That's why…we didn't think much of Mollie's diagnosis in the beginning. We never thought we could lose her." He leaned back in his chair, his face haggard. Blaine ran his fingertip along the rim of his cream-speckled coffee cup. It was disconcerting to see an adult as a mere human. "We're just gonna have to take care of him, whether he likes it or not. Make sure he's eating the right things, and enough of them. Make sure he's drinking enough water. Make sure he's sleeping."

Blaine bit down on his lip, trying to come to terms with it. Yesterday Kurt had the stomach flu. Today he had a chronic condition.

_I'm not prepared for this_, he thought.

"Kurt's gonna be okay," Burt said quietly. "He's sick and he's scared, and he doesn't know how to deal with that. That's gonna be our job." He reached across the table and gripped Blaine's wrist, his hand gentle and callused. "This isn't the end, Blaine. And I need you to step up. He needs you." Blaine nodded wordlessly, unable to speak.

"What's going on?"

He turned around to see Kurt standing in the doorway of the kitchen, so pale that his skin had taken on a bluish tint. "Hey, you," Blaine said, smiling warmly. "Feel a little better?"

Kurt was ashen. His pajamas hung on his body; his collarbone stuck out and his cheeks were hollow- testament to his body's inability to keep him healthy. "You told Blaine?" he said in a tiny voice. Burt nodded.

"Did you tell him…about Mom?" Burt hesitated, then nodded.

Kurt's face crumpled. He seemed so small, his shrunken shoulders curving inward. Blaine reached out to take his hand and squeeze it, but Kurt pulled away, shaking his head, eyes welling.

"Kiddo, don't push us away," Burt said softly. Kurt looked away, arms folded across his chest, lips pressed together in a valiant effort to keep from crying. Burt held out his hands. "Please. KK."

Blaine saw the fight go out of Kurt's body. He shuffled over to his dad, falling onto his lap, tucking his head under his chin, curling his arms into his chest. Burt hugged him close. "We'll tell Finn and Carole tonight, all right?" he murmured. "Tomorrow we'll go to the specialist. They don't think it's that serious, remember?" He kissed Kurt's temple. "You're gonna be okay. It's not gonna be like Mom."

Kurt nodded silently. Blaine reached over and took Kurt's hand, and this time he didn't pull away. Instead, he latched on tightly, fingers locking around Blaine's in a grip so desperate that his knuckles turned white.

Blaine squeezed back harder.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****In my headcanon, Mollie Hummel died from unexpected complications from ulcerative colitis, and someone wanted me to write a drabble about Kurt being diagnosed with the same illness. Ugh, my heart. So much angst.

I chose UC because my husband nearly died from it as a teenager, and they always say to write what you know, right? Usually when I have questions about it I just ask him. He's fine now, although he doesn't have a colon, but it's fun to watch people's reactions when he tells them he's missing a major organ!


	153. Eye Patch

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine could feel his hands shaking as his sister guided him up the stairs to his bedroom. "I'll be up in a second," Kurt called.<p>

"Take your time," Francey called back. She rubbed the small of Blaine's back as she led him into his room. "Are you okay? Do you need help getting changed?"

"Francey, I have an eye patch, not a full body cast," he said, laughing a little. It sounded weak in his own ears.

He pried off his slushie-stained clothes, the fabric stiff and tacky after sitting in the emergency room covered in corn syrup and food dye for so long, and dropped them on the floor. Francey picked them up silently and dropped them into his laundry hamper, then crossed over to the bathroom.

Blaine pulled a set of pajamas out his dresser drawer- the nice ones he'd gotten for Christmas- and tried to put them on. He had to lean heavily on the dresser to pull on the pants, but once he'd shrugged into the shirt, he realized the buttons were going to be too much. His hands couldn't stop trembling long enough to grip them.

"Fran?" he called, his voice thin and warbling. "Francey?"

She reappeared out of the bathroom with a washcloth in her hands and immediately tugged him down to sit on the bed. "God, Babbie, you look like you're about to keel over," she said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Lean your head down if you think you're going to pass out."

"No, no, I'm fine," he said. "I just…" He held out his hands, offering her a watery smile. "Can't stop shaking."

Francey squeezed his hand and began to dab the cool damp washcloth against his neck. "You've got orange shit all over you," she murmured, wiping away the last traces of the slushie.

"At least it's not blood this time," he joked weakly.

Francey flung the washcloth on the floor and seized him tightly it nearly hurt. "I was so scared," she whispered. He clung to her arm, closing his eyes. "When they said you were in the hospital…I was so scared, babe."

"Me too," he mumbled, squeezing his eyes tightly to ward off the tears that threatened behind his eyelids.

Francey rocked him a little, letting him bury his face in her shoulder. "It's okay," she murmured. "You're okay. It's not like the dance. I promise. It's nothing like it. You're fine. You're just fine."

He huddled against the safety of his sister's side until she finally pulled away, setting him upright and smoothing an unruly curl away, her eyes suspiciously red. "I promise you're okay," she said, leaning in and kissing him on the forehead.

The door tapped open. "I brought tea," Kurt offered softly, a navy ceramic mug in his hands.

Francey picked up the discarded washcloth and dangled it towards Kurt. "Want to come clean up your shirtless, injured boyfriend?" she teased.

Kurt flushed a little pink, but he set the steaming cup of tea down on the nightstand and took the washcloth from her. "I suppose I could be persuaded," he said.

Francey grinned and kissed the top of his head. "I leave Blaine in your capable hands," she said.

She leaned over and kissed Blaine on the cheek. "I'm going to call Mom and Dad," she whispered. He nodded. She kissed him again, as if she was trying to reassure herself that he was still there, and left the room with a final tense squeeze of his shoulder.

Kurt patted the damp washcloth to a sticky patch on Blaine's neck. "I'm glad your sister's here," he confessed. "Although I'm not sure she had to burst through the ER doors as dramatically as that."

"Francey is nothing if not dramatic," Blaine said. "And besides, she's had experience with taking me to the emergency room." He cleared his throat and squeezed Kurt's thigh lovingly. "Are you doing okay? You're still pale."

"I'm always pale," Kurt said dismissively, gently wiping away a drippy orange trail from Blaine's chest.

"But I scared you," Blaine said. He cupped Kurt's chin in his hand. "I know you hate hospitals."

Kurt turned a little to press a kiss to the side of Blaine's thumb and stood up. "You don't need to worry about me," he said, draping the washcloth over the edge of the nightstand. He leaned over and buttoned the front of Blaine's pajama shirt, his long, delicate fingers plucking at them gently. Blaine started to argue, but the tremor in his fingers make him clench his hands into fists and submit meekly.

"There," Kurt said, satisfied. He patted Blaine's knee. "Now let's get you into bed?" Blaine raised an eyebrow and Kurt frowned. "Not now, Blaine."

Blaine pushed himself up, his body still a little achy from leftover adrenaline and his fall on the concrete. "What, does the eye patch not do it for you?" he teased.

Kurt smiled as he pulled back the covers for Blaine to crawl into bed. "No," he said. He tucked the blankets back around him, snug and cozy. "Actually, Blaine Anderson, you're the only man I know who could make an eye patch sexy." He handed Blaine the cup of tea. "Now you rest, all right? And let me know you if need any more pain medication."

"No, I'm fine, thanks," Blaine murmured, taking a cautious sip of the tea. He smiled at Kurt over the rim. "You should go into medicine. You're an excellent nurse."

Kurt still smiled, but his eyes seemed a little tense. "Not really," he said. "I've just had a lot of practice."

Blaine set the tea down and patted the space next to him. "Want to stay with me?" he offered.

Usually Kurt would tease him at this point, play a game of cat-and-mouse until Blaine had sufficiently enticed him to stay. But this time Kurt immediately pulled off his shoes and crawled into bed beside him, pressing their hips together and wrapping his arms tightly around Blaine's waist.

Blaine leaned back against Kurt's chest, his still shaking hands closing over Kurt's wrists. Kurt nuzzled his hair, and Blaine could feel him take in a deep, steadying breath. Blaine pulled Kurt's arms tighter around him and pressed a kiss to his bicep.

"I was so scared," he whispered, his voice sounding loud in the silence. "I thought…it was like last time."

Kurt's arms tightened around his waist, his cheek pressing into his curls, and caught in the safety of his boyfriend's embrace, Blaine finally started to cry, his injured eye burning.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I wrote this before the Michael Jackson episode aired- I think I was only slightly off! And whoa, I wrote Blangst. I usually don't write Blangst. There's a million trillion people who write Blangst, and write it well. And honestly, I have trouble finding well-written Kurt angst. Usually it involves him becoming an angry butch emo kid, or he withers away to nothing while he cries sparkly tears. But I love writing Kurt angst. And hopefully he doesn't cry too many sparkly tears in my stories. I'm sure people would call me out on it if I started writing him out of character.

Although I have to confess that I'm an absolute sucker for any kind of sickfic or hurty-comforty stuff. I don't care how badly it's written, I will read it and wallow in _all the feels._

(This is why I never really answer when people ask for fic recs. Because I usually read incredibly awful sickfics. This is your shameful Caitlin confession of the day.)

Also, in only slightly related news, I'm working on a new original novel! Hurray! Wish me luck. :)_  
><em>


	154. Date Night Gone Wrong

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Also! Before you get terribly confused, this drabble features girl!Klaine! So instead of Blaine and Kurt, please enjoy Blaire and Kate. :D

* * *

><p>Blaire pulled her red jeep into the driveway of her girlfriend's house and parked. They sat in silence, the engine shuddering as it quieted. "I'm sorry," Blaire finally said in a small voice. "Kate, I'm…I'm so sorry."<p>

Kate stared blankly at her knees. "That didn't go as well as I hoped," she joked lamely. She swallowed hard. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was allergic to flowers."

"I didn't know you'd start sneezing like that," Blaire said, shrinking into the driver's seat, fingers tangled around the steering wheel. She picked idly at her maroon nail polish. "I just thought…they'd be nice."

"No, they were gorgeous," Kate reassured her, squeezing her arm. She winced. "I'm sorry I spilled my drink all over you."

"It's fine," Blaire said, even though Sprite still covered her short dark curls, her striped top, and her navy skirt in sticky wet rivulets. She bit her lip, offering a small smile. "This is pretty much the worst first date ever, isn't it?"

"It was my first _first _date," Kate admitted. Her brilliant eyes were wet around the edges. "It was…not what I expected."

Blaire unbuckled her seatbelt and scooted over to grip Kate's soft slim hands. "It doesn't count," she said fervently. "We planned on dinner and a movie, and we didn't even get past the appetizer. We'll try it again, and that'll be our real first date."

"But what am I going to wear?" Kate wailed, gesturing at her silver dress. "I've planned on wearing this for my first date ever since I saw it in Vogue three years ago."

Blaire smiled and leaned in to kiss her softly on the cheek. "Katey, you could wear the same dress, or a different dress, or a potato sack," she said. "Just as long as you're happy."

Kate's cheeks blushed pink. "I'm probably not going to wear a potato sack, just so you know," she said, pulling her long soft hair over her shoulder and twining the ends around her finger.

Blaire nuzzled the tip of her nose. "What's got you so flustered?" she teased.

"No one calls me Katey," she said. "My mom did. And sometimes my dad calls me Katey Beth when he's worried about me." She grinned, a dimple popping in her cheek. "Fiona tried to call me Katey once, but I threw away her soccer clinic shirt from sixth grade and she hasn't tried since." Blaire raised an eyebrow. "She loved that shirt!"

Blaire smiled. "No one ever gives me nicknames," she said.

"I'll have to come up with one, then," Kate said.

Blaire leaned back a little. "My sister calls me Squirt most of the time," she said ruefully. "And my parents call me Anna Blaire when they're mad."

"Every parent does that," Kate said. "My dad-"

"KATRINA ELIZABETH HUMMEL."

They both jumped. "Oh god, my dad," Kate whispered, ducking down. "I didn't-"

"Katrina Elizabeth Hummel, didn't you see me flicking the porch lights for the past ten minutes?" Burt called as he stormed down the steps and down the driveway. "You get your ass back in the house."

"Am I going to die?" Blaire whispered.

"Maybe…"

Burt yanked the passenger door open. "All right, ladies, I hope you enjoyed your date, but-" He stopped. "Kate? What's wrong? Why are you crying?" He stuck his head in the car to glare at Blaire. "You make her cry?"

"No, Daddy, I'm fine," Kate protested. "Blaire didn't do anything. She was a fantastic date."

Burt cupped her chin in his hand. "Then why are your eyes red, princess?" he asked.

"I…I didn't know she was allergic to daisies, Mr. Hummel," Blaire admitted softly.

Burt sighed. "C'mere," he said, helping Kate out of the car. "It's not your fault, Blaire. She likes to pretend she doesn't have allergies."

"Plus, I did accidentally spill my drink all over her, so I think we're even," Kate confessed.

"Go on inside, kiddo," Burt said. "I'll tell Carole to get you some benadryl."

"Let me say goodnight first," Kate pleaded. Burt threw his hands up in surrender and headed back towards the house. Kate crossed around to the driver's side and leaned in through the open window. "Can we reschedule our perfect date for next weekend?"

Blaire smiled and kissed her warmly on the lips, mingling her cinnamon lipgloss with Kate's sweet mint chapstick. "Of course," she promised.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****This is probably the most unusual thing I've ever written!

My darling friend Vale wanted me to write some sweet lady Klaine, and because I love her and adore her, I did. I think the dynamic is super fun! Blaire is such a classy lady, and Katey is a doll.

Also, Burt would be THE MOST PROTECTIVE DADDY EVER OMG. Kurt is already super mega spoiled, so Katey would probably be even more spoiled- especially since she looks exactly like her mama and it just kills Burt to see how much like Mollie she is.

Also, the thought of lady!Finn is amusing.

OH GOD LADY!PUCK.

LADY!FINN AND LADY!PUCK.

CAUSING MAYHEM.

OH GOD.

SOMEONE GO TO MY TUMBLR ASKBOX AND PROMPT THIS.


	155. Homesick

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Rory dragged himself to his locker and slowly turned the tumbler. <em>One more class, <em>he consoled himself. _One more class, then glee, then home._

Well, not really home. More like…the Pierces' spare bedroom, with the elliptical machine pushed in the corner and the closet full of winter coat storage. But still. He could at least put his head down and sleep. Maybe until Monday.

_You're just homesick, _he told himself sternly. Extra homesick because he missed Christmas and New Year's and his mother's birthday. And being homesick could give you a headache and a stomachache and a touch of fever, right?

He closed his locker and tucked his books under his arm. It was fine. He was fine. He wasn't really sick. Just…under the weather. That was all.

He sat through his last class of the day in a haze. It was geometry, so he really should have been listening, but he was just so tired. It took all of his willpower to keep his eyes from sliding shut, much less focusing and taking notes.

The final bell of the day rang and he trudged back to his locker. Quinn came up behind him and patted his shoulder. "Ready for glee?" she asked.

"I suppose," he said. She smiled and kept walking.

Rory dropped his books in the bottom of his locker and closed it. The door swung back and smacked him in the back of his head as he tried to leave. He scowled, slammed it shut, and wandered towards the choir room.

It was hot and noisy in there- too noisy. Finn was banging away on the drums, Kurt and Blaine were playing "Heart and Soul" on the piano, the girls were shrieking noisily about…something. He didn't know. Rory sank into a seat on the bottom riser, legs splayed out and arms drooping at his sides as he slumped over.

"Hey, Rory, don't be so glum," Artie said cheerfully as he rolled past. "We're getting our regionals music on, yo."

Rory offered a smile that felt more like a grimace. Singing was the last thing he wanted to do. His throat felt too raw and sore. But he needed to stay in the glee club.

Besides, Brittany was his ride home. He didn't have the option of leaving.

"All right, everybody, get in your seats," Mr. Schue said as he strolled out of his office, waving a sheaf of sheet music. "I've got some songs I'd like us to try. Now, I know we usually put a lot of emphasis on having soloists, but I want us to try an entire choral number. I'm going to split everyone up into parts. Rory, I want you and Artie over here…"

Rory obeyed, shuffling into the indicated spot and holding on tightly to the music forced into his hands. His body didn't seem to like being upright; he locked his legs in an attempt to keep himself standing straight.

Apparently splitting up into parts was like rocket science, because it took twenty minutes before everyone was in position. Kurt couldn't decide if he wanted to be a tenor or a soprano, Finn didn't even know what part he was, and Rachel was personally offended at being placed with the altos. Rory shifted his weight slightly. The heat from the room make his head feel thick, but as long as he kept his knees tight, he didn't feel like he was going to fall over.

"All right," Mr. Schue finally said, heaving a sigh. "Let's take it from the top."

Rory sucked in a deep breath to sing. His head swam. He opened his mouth, but instead of the opening notes, his vision suddenly doubled and everything went black.

He opened his eyes sluggishly, expecting to see the whiteboard, the piano, and Mr. Schue in front of him. "Ceiling," he said numbly. "Why's…ceiling…"

Something cool and wet dabbed against his face. "He's waking up," he heard a relieved voice say.

"When'd I fall asleep?" he mumbled, screwing up his face.

"You didn't fall asleep, you blacked out." Kurt leaned over him, his blue eyes concerned. "You hit your head really hard when you went down. What's your name? How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Rory James Flanagan," he said, his tongue thick. "And…seven?"

Kurt sighed. "Not quite," he said. "Oh god, maybe he has a concussion. Rory, don't fall asleep."

Blaine placed a gentle warning hand on Kurt's arm. "Kurt…"

"He's running a fever," Quinn said. Dimly he realized that she was patting a wet paper towel to his face. It felt sort of nice. "I think we need to take him to the nurse's office."

"My poor baby leprechaun," Brittany sighed, patting Rory's chest. "I didn't know leprechauns could get sick. Does that mean you were the one throwing up in the bathroom last night? I thought it was me. In a dream."

Quinn frowned. "You've been throwing up?" she asked.

"No, not at all, I…" Rory's face fell as Quinn glared at him. "Maybe just a little."

"How long have you been feeling bad?" she asked.

"Couple of weeks?" he offered lamely.

"And you didn't tell anyone you were feeling bad?" Kurt said. He looked hurt. "Rory, that's not okay. We would have helped."

"I thought I was just homesick," he said in a small voice, and suddenly he missed everything- his own cozy bed at home, the soup his mother always made when he didn't feel well, his loud and well-meaning family fussing over him while he was laid up. His eyes welled. "I'm sorry, I don't…"

He suddenly found himself caught in a hug between Quinn and Brittany, his head on the former's shoulders and the latter's arms tight around his waist. "We need to get him to the nurse's office," Kurt said, rubbing Rory's shoulders. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah, yeah, I can, I'm fine," he said, pushing himself up.

He promptly fell over. Puck carried him to the nurse's office.

The nurse asked him the usual questions, took his temperature, checked his vitals. He sat on the edge of the little vinyl-covered cot, staring at the floor, wondering why his head was spinning and why the room felt so cold.

"You're shaking," Quinn said, rubbing his back. "Do you want a blanket?"

"I'm fine," he said. "You can go back to rehearsal. I don't want you to miss anything."

"No, dude, it's cool," Puck shrugged. "We can stick around."

Brittany fiddled with her phone. "I should probably call my parents," she said.

"Yes, that would probably be wise," Kurt said. "Go, boo. Go and call."

"I think you need a blanket," Quinn told Rory. "You're shivering."

"But I'm hot," he protested. His stomach roiled unpleasantly and he pressed his hand against it. "I'm not cold."

"You've got chills," Quinn said firmly.

The nurse scribbled something down on a piece of paper and turned around to frown at Rory. He blinked. His vision was hazy and his stomach was churning. "Well, it looks like a case of mono to me," she said. "Happens every winter around here. But you let it go too long, hon. I think you might-"

His rebelling stomach suddenly turned complete traitor and he leaned over the edge of the cot to throw up all over Puck's shoes.

The nurse sighed. "Think you might need to get checked out by a doctor," she finished flatly. "A little warning next time, hon?"

"Damn," Puck sighed. "I really liked these shoes."

"I'm sorry," Rory gasped. "It just…I didn't know it was coming."

"That's usually how it happens," Kurt said, hovering anxiously. "Are you going to be sick again? Do you feel a little better?"

"I dunno…I wanna lie down," he said in a daze. "Could I lie down?"

Quinn helped him lie back, Kurt supporting his neck. "Anyone gonna give his parents a call?" the nurse asked. "I think a doctor visit is in order for this one."

Brittany stuck her head in the door. "His parents are leprechauns and can't come, but it's okay, I think my parents can get him," she said breezily.

"I don't think we can wait on the Pierces," Puck said, tapping the toes of his shoes on the floor. "Better get the kiddo to the ER."

"Rory, honey, can you walk?" Kurt worried.

"I could try," he said. "But I don't think I want to."

"Don't worry, I got 'im," Puck said, scooping him up. "But you owe me, dude. I liked these shoes."

"I didn't mean to-"

"I know. I know. I'm just messing with you."

He spent the ride to the hospital wrapped up in a blanket in the back of Quinn's sedan. The girls sat on either side of him while Kurt drove and Puck navigated. He tucked his chin on Quinn's shoulder and closed his eyes.

He woke up to find himself in a triage room while several voices argued around him. "I'm sorry, kids, but we're going to admit him," a strange older woman's voice said. "Are you family?"

"Yes," Kurt said immediately, patting Rory's hand. "He's my brother. My…younger brother. We're two years apart. The resemblance is striking, right?"

"Kurt, just quit while you're ahead," Quinn hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

"What about these other kids?" the doctor asked.

"We're adopted," Puck said.

Brittany frowned. "So our parents are Brad and Angelina now, right? Because they adopt all the kids." Quinn stamped lightly on her toes.

Rory blinked hazily. "Am I dead?" he slurred. "Also…I think I might…be sick again. Just…so you know."

The doctor frowned. "If you're all from the same family, why does he have an accent and none of the rest of you do?" she asked.

"Oy, we're all Irish," Kurt said promptly.

"Don't say 'oy'," Quinn hissed. "That's not Irish."

"Top o' the mornin' to ya," Puck said. "Potatoes…Lucky Charms…booze."

"I've always wanted to be a leprechaun," Brittany mused.

The doctor sighed in exasperation. "Fine," she said. "Come on in."

"Do I have to do anything then?" Rory mumbled.

Quinn smoothed his hair and dropped a kiss on his cheek. "You just lie still and rest," she said. "Don't worry about anything. We'll take care of it."

It turned out that "taking care of it" meant a thorough (and slightly invasive) examination, a blood test (he didn't faint, but Kurt got a little woozy and Brittany had to take him out to get juice), getting hooked up to an IV (Quinn held his hand while Puck stared too closely in fascination; Kurt had to leave the room again), and getting sent back to the Pierces' house to be tucked into bed with strict orders to rest, drink plenty of fluids, and avoid strenuous activity.

He spent most of the late afternoon and evening dozing off and on. Brittany and her little sister brought him a tray with soup and crackers and juice; he ate a little before falling into another shallow sleep.

He woke up around eight, his room dark and his head thick. Voices echoed in the hallway as his houseparents spoke in soft confidential voices. "…passed out in class and threw up in the nurse's office. We didn't even know he was sick, Helen."

"He didn't even know he was sick. He told Britty he thought he was just homesick. Poor thing."

"You think we ought to send him home?"

"I don't know. He's supposed to stay the whole school year, but he's going to be sick for a few weeks. I'm sure his parents are worried about him."

Rory closed his eyes, a rebellious tear trickling down the bridge of his nose to drip into his pillow. He wanted his mother so bad it nearly hurt, but before he could think about it and set himself up for a good old-fashioned cry, he fell asleep.

The next day was Saturday, and with Brittany at cheer practice and Taylor at soccer, the house was quiet. He slept in fits and spurts, watching television idly when he could keep his eyes open. Mrs. Pierce brought him breakfast, but it wasn't oatmeal with brown sugar and cream like his mother made, it was scrambled eggs and a slice of toast, and he couldn't eat more than a few mouthfuls.

Around lunchtime he woke up to a knock on his door. "Rory? Honey, are you awake?" he heard Mrs. Pierce call softly.

"Yeah, I am," he said, rubbing his eyes.

She opened the door, smiling at him. "You feel up to a few visitors?" she asked.

He shrugged. She touched his forehead, frowning at the warmth, and patted him on the shoulder before beckoning the visitors in.

"Hey, dude, you feeling better?" Finn asked, grinning affably.

"I've been worse," Rory said. "I think."

Kurt followed at Finn's heels, a laptop sleeve in his arms. "Hi," he said, smiling brightly. "Brittany told me your laptop broke last month, so I thought…maybe you'd like to borrow mine?"

Rory smiled, puzzled. "That's nice of you, Kurt, but…you don't have to do that," he said.

Kurt opened the lid and typed in a few commands. "But you see…my computer has Skype," he said. He set the laptop down on Rory's knees. "Use it as long as you want."

Too excited to remember to thank him, Rory typed in his screenname and password eagerly. The screen chimed to life as Kurt and Finn left quietly. He didn't notice as the webcam switched on and the call went through.

"Hey, Ror!" his brother Seamus said. "How're you?"

"Okay," he said, smiling broadly. "Okay, I guess. Where's Mummy?"

"Washing dishes, but I'll get her," Seamus said, disappearing from the screen. Rory hungrily studied the background of the family living room- crowded bookshelves, disorganized coffee table, several pairs of shoes littered across the floor.

His mother appeared on the screen. "Rory, my love!" she exclaimed, her voice lilting pleasantly. "What's wrong, _a stor? _You're pale as a ghost."

Rory burst into tears.

"Rory, my baby, what is it?" his mother said. "What's wrong? Are you homesick?"

"No, Mummy, just regular sick," he sobbed. "Well...maybe a little homesick. I want to come home."

She smiled, touching her fingers to the computer screen. "Ah, but you're a brave boy, _a stor_," she crooned. "I miss you too, my boy, but I know you'd be sad to be leaving." He wiped his eyes and nodded, swallowing hard. His sore throat ached more. "Now you tell me what's going on. Tell me everything."

Rory leaned back against the pillows, the laptop balanced on his knees, and took a deep breath. "Well, I thought I was just homesick…" he began.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****RORY IS A DOLLBABY. Well, not as much a dollbaby as Kurt is, but still. Totally adorable.

My friend Meg ADORES Rory and I wrote this mostly for her. But also because it was fun.

I really want to see Kurt and Puck attempting Irish accents. I think that was my favorite part.

also, I have continued my running gag about Kurt being squeamish about getting blood taken.


	156. Vicodin

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

(Also: another genderbent!Klaine fic!)

* * *

><p>Blaire woke up slowly, her head feeling thick. "Whazzat?" she mumbled, her lips dry and heavy.<p>

"Blaire? Blaire, honey, are you awake?"

The voice was soft and high and beautifully familiar. Blaire turned sluggishly towards it. "Katey?" she said.

Her girlfriend was a pretty blur beside her, an indistinguishable blob of brunette ponytail and pale face and pink dress. "How are you feeling?" Kate asked anxiously, smoothing Blaire's tangled curls. "Can you see me?"

Blaire blinked a few times. Kate swam into focus- she could see the freckles on her nose and every carefully curled eyelash. "Uh-huh," she said, relieved. "But…it's funny…"

"You don't have any depth perception," Kate said ruefully. "You're wearing an eye patch."

Blaire frowned and reached for her face, patting at the patch. "Huh," she said. "I am."

"Don't mess with it," Kate entreated. "Your cornea's scratched, remember?" She scowled. "I swear, if I wasn't trying to be a lady about this, I would go into Serena Smythe's house and fill her shampoo bottle with Nair. And then…then kick her. Hard. In the face. Or the boobs. Probably the boobs."

Blaire grinned woozily. "You're cute when you're mad," she said.

Kate's frown faded. "And you're cute when you're incoherent," she said, tucking the red floral quilt tighter around her incapacitated girlfriend. "You're so hopped up on Vicodin."

Blaire raised her arms above her head. "This must be what Dr. House feels like all the time!" she said. "Why isn't he nicer, then, hm?"

Kate carefully tugged her arms down. "Lie still," she chided. Blaire submitted to being tucked in. "You know…I still haven't thanked you."

"For what?" Blaire asked.

"For taking that slushie for me," Kate whispered. "If it wasn't for you…"

Blaire tugged lightly on the end of Kate's ponytail, drawing her closer, and kissed her sweetly on the lips. "You would've done the same for me," she said.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****D'awww, sweet Klaire lady kisses.

Also, I haven't posted anything to any of my other stories in a while. This is mostly because I haven't had time to write anything.

But I have a mostly-finished story about stripper!Kurt just sitting around on my hard drive.

Should I go ahead and post it?


	157. Underboob

Diclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Really?" Santana said. "You think it'll work?"<p>

"Like a charm," Francey assured her. "Trust me. This is how I was able to get out of all my PE classes in junior high." She disappeared into her closet, rummaging around noisily, until she emerged with an old shoebox in her hand. "Here it is."

Santana peered inside. "I'm impressed," she said. "You have more blackmail paraphernalia than I do."

"I've been collecting," Francey said. "Aha!" She held up a tiny microcassette recorder. "Here it is. Deliciously old school."

"But where am I going to hide it?" Santana asked, perplexed. "I mean, I usually hide things in my hair, or my boots, but-"

Francey smirked. "Underboob," she said.

Santana raised an eyebrow. "Underboob?"

"You ever wear padded cups?" Francey asked. "Just take the padding out of one cup, stick in the recorder, rearrange the stuffing, and bam! Spy bra."

"I like," Santana said in approval. "Very devious." She smirked. "If only your little brother was as tricky as you. I think we'd be best friends."

"Oh, Blaine can't be devious," Francey said. "I got all of those genes. He got all of the innocence."

Kurt poked his head in the bedroom door. "Santana? Do you want to come say hello to our piratical invalid?" he inquired.

"Oh, god, he's not singing sea shanties again, is he?" Francey groaned.

"No, sadly, his last round of Vicodin wore off," Kurt sighed. "But not before Brittany got it on tape."

"Then to Youtube it is!" Francey said.

"Seriously, Santana, come say hi to Blaine before the Vicodin wears off completely and the sleeping pill kicks in," Kurt said. "He's going to start drooling in a little bit."

"Fine," Santana said. "But remember, I don't do well with sick people. They freak me out. I expect like a jug of hand sanitizer after this little visit."

Francey caught her arm as she passed by. "Remember," she whispered. "Underboob."

"Underboob," Santana nodded.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****OH GOD WE SHOULD NOT ALLOW SANTANA AND FRANCEY TO TEAM UP.


	158. Blaine's in Love

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"You were staring at his ass," Lucy singsonged.<p>

Blaine jumped. "Was not!" he said. He blinked. "What were we talking about?"

David elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "You were ogling Kurt," he said.

"Was not!" Blaine protested.

"Yes, you were," Wes said serenely.

Lucy reached across the table to take one of David's French fries. "And you're going to get plenty more chances to ogle him," she said. "He's officially a member of the Dalton Academy-St. Liliana competition cheer squad. We fitted him for his uniform today." She smirked. "I got to take his measurements. Jealous?"

"No," Blaine said, sitting up primly as his cheeks flushed a brilliant red.

Lucy sighed. "Seriously, Blaine, we all know you're deeply, irresistibly attracted to Kurt," she said.

"Am n-" Blaine started to say, but David cut him off quickly by stuffing a French fry in his mouth.

"You shouldn't fight it," Wes said. "You're attracted to him…he's clearly attracted to you…what's the problem?"

Blaine chewed the French fry and swallowed, glaring at David. "Because he's been hurt," he said. "He told me about what was going on at his old school, and he doesn't need a boyfriend right now. He just needs friends. A mentor."

Lucy laced her fingers together and rested her chin on her knuckles. "What if I told you he does want a boyfriend?" she asked quietly.

"And how would you know that, Lu?" Blaine scoffed.

"Kurt and I had a chance to talk during the preseason lock-in this past weekend," she said. "He's never had a boyfriend, you know. Never even been kissed."

"I knew that," Blaine said softly. He looked down. "I don't want to be the one to mess things up for him. He's gone through enough. He deserves an amazing relationship."

"He does," Wes said. "He deserves someone kind, someone who loves music like he does, who understands the pain he's gone through, who won't take advantage of him but will throw himself into creating a healthy relationship." He rolled his eyes. "I really don't see why you think you're not eligible for the job."

"Just ask him out on a date and see where it goes," Lucy suggested. "I can fill you in a few tips. Let me go ahead and tell you now- he's not a huge fan of spicy food, he hasn't seen any of this year's Oscar nominees for best picture but really wants to, and yellow roses are his favorite flower." She took a sip of her drink and eyed Blaine mischievously over her glass. "Also, he prefers boxer-briefs."

Blaine choked. "Louisa!" David exclaimed.

Lucy shrugged. "What? We cheerleaders talk about everything," she said. "We also have no qualms about changing in front of each other. Did you know that Kurt has the cutest little freckle right on his-"

"Louisa!"

"It's even shaped like a-"

"LOUISA!"

* * *

><p><strong>author's Notes:<strong>

****I WILL LET YOU IMAGINE THE EXACT SHAPE AND LOCATION OF KURT'S ADORABLE FRECKLE.

Also I am seriously contemplating naming my future daughter Louisa.

Also, as interesting as it is to write lady!Klaine, I really do love writing my sweet boy!Klaine. And also writing Lurty. Because Lurty makes me happy.

Also also _also_, hopefully I can get back on a more reliable update schedule in the next few days. I started posting stripper!Kurt (it's called Poison and Wine) and Goodnight is next on the list to be tackled and completed!


	159. Blood

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Carole bit her lip. "Are you sure you don't need any help?" she asked.<p>

"No, I'm fine," Kurt said, not bothering to turn towards her as he diced celery.

Carole suppressed a sigh as she wandered into the living room to wait for Burt and Finn to return from the grocery store. She really did like her boyfriend's son. Kurt was smart and sweet- and he was the one who introduced them, after all. But it was becoming quite apparent that Kurt wanted absolutely nothing to do with her.

Maybe it had something to do with how much time Burt was spending with Finn. At first she'd been so excited, since her boy had gone nearly his entire life without a positive father figure around. But she'd caught Kurt's expression when the four of them were together. It was hurting him to see his father attaching himself to another a boy, especially when the interloper practically had "all-American male stereotype" written all over his face. She knew it was hurting Kurt, but there was nothing that she could do about it.

"You're sure I can't help?" she called.

"No, I'm f-"

The tiny startled gasp set off every highly-tuned maternal instinct she had. She got up and headed to the kitchen. "Kurt?" she said. "Are you all right?"

Kurt hunched over the cutting board, gripping his wrist. "I'm fine," he said in a tight breathless voice. "I'm fine, I just-"

The knife discarded on the cutting board was edged in blood. Carole took Kurt's hand in hers and turned it over. A long gash sliced across his palm, already beginning to gush. "Did the knife slip?" she asked, keeping her voice calm.

"I don't know…I guess, it's just, I never, I don't…"

Kurt's shoulders heaved. Carole picked up a clean dishtowel and wrapped it snugly around his bleeding hand. "Accidents happen," she said gently. "We'll just get the bleeding stopped, okay? Do you want to sit down?"

"I'm okay," he said numbly, trying to pull from her grasp. "I just…I need to finish dinner, I'll be okay."

"Honey, don't worry about dinner," she urged. "I'll finish up, or we'll order pizza, or…Kurt? What's wrong?"

His eyes had welled up and he turned his head away sharply. Carole thought back frantically over what she had just said, whatever she could have done to make him upset.

_Honey, _she realized. _I called him honey._

She wrapped an arm gently around his shoulders and guided him into the living room. He felt so little against her, so much smaller and frailer than her own child. "Come sit down, sweetheart," she said gently. "I don't want you passing out on me."

He trembled a little bit as she forced him to sit. He looked so unlike himself- face pale, hair unkempt, plaid shirt unbuttoned over a solid tee shirt, the cuffs of his jeans pooling around his bare feet- that she suddenly, fiercely wished that Burt's first wife was still alive, just so that someone could take care of Kurt and comfort him the way he deserved. Carole rubbed his back, watching the way he bit down hard into his lip, the way his skin faded in shades of white and gray and green.

"You're okay," she reassured him as he sank into the couch. "It's just a bad cut. We'll get the bleeding stopped and then we'll see if you need stitches."

Kurt swallowed hard, his eyelashes fluttering, but he dug his teeth so deeply into his lower lip that blood welled up. He didn't say anything, but Carole knew the signs of an impending fainting spell when she saw them. "You're okay," she said, lifting him. "Put your head on your knees and close your eyes." He couldn't move; Carole had to pull and prod him until he was hunched over. She stroked his hair with her free hand, still keeping firm pressure on his palm with the other.

"Tell me how you're feeling," she asked gently, smoothing his silky hair.

"…I need to finish dinner…"

"No, you don't," she said. "I'll finish dinner or we'll order out."

"But Dad wanted me to make dinner," Kurt protested, his voice muffled by his knees. "I have to…Dad _asked _me…"

"All your dad is going to care about is if you're okay," Carole said. "And I'm sure the last thing he wants is for you to make yourself worse. Now lie still. I don't want you to black out on me."

Kurt raised his head, his eyes bleary. "But Dad-"

"What about Dad?"

Carole glanced back. "Burt, I didn't even see you come in," she said. "Kurt's hand slipped and he cut himself."

Burt crossed the living room in a few quick strides, sitting down beside his son and patting his back. "You all right, kiddo?" he asked. "Are you gonna pass out?"

"I need to finish dinner," he insisted, his voice spiraling up into a high-pitched whimper. "Dad, I'm sorry, I-"

Burt swept his son into his arms, effectively stifling his protests. "Let's take a look at that hand," he said, forcing Kurt to rest his head against his shoulder. He pried the blood-soaked towel away and let out a low whistle. "That's a pretty good cut you gave yourself."

Kurt still held himself stiffly, as if he couldn't relax even with his father's arms around him. Carole took the bloody towel and dabbed at the gash with a clean corner. "The bleeding is slowing down," she said. She rubbed Kurt's arm gently. "Honey, relax. Your dad and I've got you."

Kurt stared at the bloody towel and swallowed hard. "I don't think I feel good," he said in a tiny voice.

"I don't blame you, buddy," Burt said. He rubbed Kurt's back. "I don't blame you at all. You're just a bleeder. Remember when you were six and clonked your head on the kitchen table?"

Kurt didn't smile, still stiff and unyielding on his father's lap. The front door clanged shut, and Carole saw Kurt jump in surprise. "Burt, where'd you go?" Finn called as he loped into the living room. "Is Kurt done with dinner? 'Cause I'm…really…hungry. Oh my god, what's going on?"

"Kurt sliced his hand open," Burt said, rubbing the back of Kurt's neck. "Listen, bud, I need you to help out. I need you to clean up the kitchen while your mom and I get him taken care of."

"But I really-" Finn started to say. "What about-" Carole frowned and held up the bloodied towel, out of Kurt's line of vision. Finn blanched. "Uh…I'll go clean the kitchen."

Carole smoothed her hand along the cut across Kurt's hand. "I'm going to go get the first aid kit," she said. "Do you still feel like you're going to pass out?"

Kurt shrugged a little bit. Burt kept rubbing the back of his neck. "You're okay, kiddo," he murmured. "I've got you."

Kurt finally seemed to relax, his head drooping against Burt's broad shoulder. Carole barely heard his soft whisper. "Please stay with me, Dad?"

Burt paused, as if the hesitant request startled him, and then his arms closed tightly around Kurt, almost too tightly. "I'm not going anywhere," he promised, as his son sagged against him in relief. "We'll get your hand fixed up and you'll be just fine."

Kurt buried his face into his father's chest, huddling against him for comfort. Burt kissed the top of Kurt's head and rested his cheek against his child's shining hair. Carole patted Burt's arm, then squeezed Kurt's knee, smiling to herself as she got up. They were going to be okay, in more ways than one.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****ALL THE ANGSTY KURT FEELS.

This takes place some time around Laryngitis, in the first season. I love that episode. Kurt is such a dollbaby. I just want to swoop him up and kiss him on the nose and cuddle him. Poor thing, trying to be all butch and truck-drivery and failing.

I really feel like there must have been a Carole side to the story. She was probably really excited that her son finally had a father figure in his life to spend time with him and be a good influence- she probably encouraged it. But I feel like she also probably felt awful for Kurt. You can tell even in the first season that she's very fond of him. But Kurt probably kept his distance at first. He's good at that.

Also, Kurt needs a mommy. WHY DID MOLLIE HAVE TO DIE. whyyyyyyy.

In unrelated news, I think there's a drabble that I wrote but haven't posted to Tumbled. Has anyone seen a drabble about Kurt getting sunburned and Blaine takiing care of him and then he tries to turn it into makey-outy times and then he gets cockblocked by Kurt falling asleep?

Also there is Lucy in that one.


	160. Big Brother

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Why do we gotta dress up?" Blaine frowned, wrinkling up his nose.<p>

"Because you and your sister need to look nice," his mother worried as she fiddled anxiously with Blaine's bowtie. "Stand still, baby love."

Francey flopped down on a nearby chair, sliding all the way down the slick vinyl surface. "I wanna go on an airplane," the seven-year-old announced. "Can I get on an airplane?"

"We're not going on an airplane, remember?" Lilah said, picking Francey up and setting her on her feet. She brushed imaginary wrinkles from Francey's striped sundress. "We're here to get Cooper off the plane."

"Mama, tell me why we have a Cooper?" Blaine asked, flinging himself on his mother's lap.

"I already told you, precious lamb," Lilah said.

"I forgotted. Tell me again?" he implored, tilting his head to the side.

Lilah sighed. "Daddy had a different wife before Mama, remember?" she said, a little stiffly. "He was married to a different lady, Rebecca. And Daddy and Miss Rebecca had a baby."

"Was it me?" Blaine asked. "I'm the baby."

Lilah nuzzled his dark curls. "No, lambie, you're _my _baby," she said. "Cooper was the baby."

"Oh," Blaine said, puzzled. "I didn't know Cooper was a baby."

"No, he's not a baby, he's eleven," Lilah reminded him. "Daddy and Miss Rebecca…decided not to be married anymore, so Miss Rebecca lives in Boston with Cooper and Daddy lives here in Ohio with us."

Francey paused. "Mama, are you and Daddy gonna decide to not be married anymore?" she asked.

"No, no, sweet pea, Mama would never let that happen," Lilah reassured her.

Blaine bounced impatiently on his mother's knee. "So why are we gonna get Cooper from the airplane?" he pressed

"'Cause Cooper's gonna spend the summer with us!" Francey said. She threw her hands up in the air. "We're getting a brother for the summer!"

"He's not really your brother, honey, he's just your half brother," Lilah said. "Blaine's your real brother."

"And I am the baby," Blaine declared, settling back against his mother's shoulder with a satisfied smile.

Lilah watched her husband pace by the arrivals gate, arms folded across his chest. "Yes, honey, you're the baby," she murmured absently.

Jack suddenly turned around and waved to them. Francey waved back. "Hi, Daddy!" she bellowed.

"His flight's deplaning," Jack called, and Lilah stood up, setting Blaine on her hip.

"All right, lovies," she said, patting Blaine's back nervously. "We're going to go get Cooper. I want you both to be on your best behavior. Be sweet."

"Yes, Mama," Blaine said obediently. Francey ran over to her father and latched her arms around his waist; he patted her head absently as he scanned the gate. Lilah joined them, still patting Blaine's back.

"Is that Cooper?" Blaine asked with every new arrival. "Is that Cooper? That Cooper?" Lilah shook her head, covering his mouth with her fingertips.

"There he is," Jack said at last. "Cooper!"

A boy walked towards them, tall and thin with the uncomfortably large hands and feet of a duffel bag slung across his shoulder. The Anderson resemblance was striking- dark hair, strong jaw line, thick eyebrows. But while Blaine and Francey had their mother's hazel eyes (Blaine's a golden shade, Francey's veering towards green), the newcomer had deep blue eyes. He walked over to them a little uncertainly, as if he still wasn't sure that the man calling his name was the right person.

"Cooper!" Jack called. He clapped the preteen on the shoulder and pulled him in for an awkward hug. "Hey, kid. How was your flight?"

"Good," Cooper said, shrugging away.

Jack wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him towards the rest of the family. "Cooper, this is…well, this is my wife, Lilah," he said.

Lilah set Blaine carefully on the ground and held out her slim hand. Blaine darted behind her, clinging to her legs. "It's so nice to meet you, Cooper," she said, smiling hesitantly.

"Nice to meet you too," Cooper mumbled, shaking her hand quickly before sticking his hands back into the pockets of his hoodie.

"And, Cooper, these are your siblings," Jack pressed. "This is-"

"I'm Francey, I'm seven," she announced. She looked him up and down. "You're a giant."

Jack laughed. "He's just tall for his age," he said. He reached behind Lilah's legs and tugged Blaine out of hiding. "And this is your little brother, Blaine."

Blaine whimpered and hugged Jack's legs, hiding his face in the back of his father's knee. Cooper grinned and held out his hand. "Hey, little guy," he said. "High five?"

Blaine peeked out, apparently weighing the pros and cons, and tentatively patted his small hand in Cooper's. "I want a high five!" Francey announced. Cooper held out his hand to her; she jumped up and slapped it loudly.

"We're going to go out for an early dinner," Jack said. "Let's go grab your suitcase, okay?"

He led Cooper towards the luggage carousel. Lilah sighed heavily and picked up Blaine. "Come on, babies, let's go," she said, holding her hand out for Francey to take. Blaine hid his face in Lilah's shoulder. "Oh, honey, don't be shy."

"It's okay," Francey said, reaching up to pat Blaine's knee. "I don't think the new brother is that cool. Blaine's still my favorite brother."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I was SO SCARED that introducing Cooper would joss Francey completely, but thankfully things can still work out! So this is my headcanon of how Cooper fits into the Anderson family.

My headcanon is also that Blaine was painfully shy as a wee little boy.

Also, Lilah is kind of a meek, somewhat spineless woman who will do anything to keep her husband happy. Which is why, when Jack starts talking about sending Blaine to boarding school after the Sadie Hawkins dance, she doesn't fight him.

I might write more about the Andersons and Cooper...

Also! Many lovely readers confirmed that yes, I have posted the drabble! So if you go to chapter 25, you can read all about Kurt getting sunburned and Blaine fussing over him. It's very cute.


	161. Valentine's Day

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine sank into the chair beside Kurt with a satisfied sigh. "Oh, lordy, it's so nice to be out of my room for once," he announced. He draped an arm around Kurt's shoulders. "Are you having fun?"<p>

"Mm-hm," Kurt said absently.

Blaine frowned, sliding closer. Kurt had tucked one knee up to his chest, his arms folded, his chin resting on his knee as he watched the party wind down. "Are you all right?" he asked, stroking Kurt's back lightly.

"Mm-hm," Kurt said.

Blaine continued to stroke Kurt's back pensively. He had a feeling this wasn't over.

"Blaine? Can I…talk to you?"

"Of course you can," Blaine said, sliding closer. "What's wrong?"

Kurt bit his lip, swallowing hard. "I kept getting secret admirer notes," he whispered, still not looking at him. "All week. And I…I thought they were from you."

_Damn, _Blaine thought. _That's what I should have done while I was laid up. That would have been better than the heart-shaped eye patch._

"Did you find out who it was?" he asked aloud. "I'm guessing you figured they weren't from me."

Kurt lowered his head. "They were from Karofsky," he confessed.

Blaine straightened, struggling to tamp down the sudden spurt of anger rising in his chest. "He did what?" he said.

Kurt rubbed the side of his nose. "He met me here, tonight, before the party, and…" He choked. "He said he thinks he loves me. He tried to hold my hand. And I…I _let _him."

Blaine wrapped his arm tighter around Kurt, biting down his words. "I've been trying to be so…peaceable all year," Kurt said, his voice shaking. "I didn't want there to be fights. I didn't want there to be drama. And now…you get a rock salt slushie, and my brother's stupid enough to get married in high school, and…_I couldn't tell Karofsky no._" His shoulders began to tremble. "I told him…I liked him as a friend. And I…I don't! I'm still terrified to be around him, but I…I lied. I lied, Blaine. I didn't want to start anything, and I lied, and I think I made everything worse."

Blaine pulled Kurt into his chest and rested his forehead against the nape of his neck. The party blazed on around them, but Blaine tuned it out. "I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to Kurt's soft warm skin. "I love you. I love you so much."

Kurt choked- a half laugh, half sob. "You don't just think you love me?" he said.

"I know I love you," Blaine said, stroking Kurt's hair. "I know it. I love you so much." He kissed the top of Kurt's head, breathing in the scent of his shampoo (_and god, he'd missed that so much)_. "Let me take you home. We'll figure this out."

Kurt nodded, the tip of his nose brushing against Blaine's shoulder, and Blaine tugged him to his feet. He smiled as he rubbed his thumb against Kurt's jawline, cautious of the threatening tears in those blue eyes he loved so much. Kurt sighed, pressing his cheek to his palm. "You make me feel safe," he breathed.

Blaine leaned in to kiss him, cupping Kurt's cheeks in his hand, easing into a soft slow liplock, warm and soothing. "Good," he whispered. "I want you to feel safe with me."

He kissed Kurt one last time and took him by the hand, squeezing gently. Kurt linked their fingers together as he followed Blaine out the door, quiet and trusting. Blaine squeezed his hand back, their palms pressing in an even grip.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I really hated that we never got to see Blaine's reaction to the Karofsky-love-stalker situation. I feel like Blaine would have been righteously angry about it.

Also, I feel like Kurt has major trust issues, but he's learned that he can trust Blaine, and so he lets his guard down around him and is just so sweet and vulnerable and Blaine treasures that.

All the sensitive!Kurt feels.


	162. Every February, You'll Be My Valentine

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine tapped on the mic. "Hey, everybody," he grinned. "Everyone's having a great time tonight, right?"<p>

The crowd hollered in approval. Blaine pulled the mic off its stand. "Well, I just wanted to say a few words, if that's okay," he said. "As some of you probably know, this is my first Valentine's Day with my wonderful boyfriend, the incredibly handsome Kurt Hummel."

He gestured to Kurt sitting on the sidelines, who offered a small wave and a slightly embarrassed, slightly pleased smile.

"Last Valentine's Day, I made a huge mistake," Blaine continued. "I sang what I considered to be a romantic song…to someone who wasn't Kurt. Long story short…we didn't end up together, and I'm not allowed to shop at the Gap store in the Westerville mall anymore."

A couple of people who remembered the story laughed; Kurt shook his head in exaggerated dismay. "It was a really stupid move," Blaine said. "Probably one of the worst Valentine's Days I've ever had." He smiled, his eyes locking onto Kurt's. "But a month later, it finally sank in that…everything I had been looking for was right in front of me the entire time."

Kurt smiled, his brilliant eyes crinkling up in the corners. "When Kurt and I met, I sang a song that promised that 'every February, I'd be his valentine'," Blaine said, his voice growing softer. "Well, last February I wasn't. But starting this year, I always will be." His smile widened the longer he watched Kurt, the way his dimple popped deeper in his cheek and his blue eyes shone. "So…it's sort of last minute, but the God Squad has kindly accepted my ten dollars for an impromptu performance dedicated to the most wonderful guy I could ever be lucky enough to be with."

He handed the microphone over to Quinn, who gave him an affectionate pinch on the arm as he stepped off the edge of the stage and crossed to Kurt. "There's no microphone hidden under your chair this time, is there?" he asked, sliding his hands in his pockets.

"No, Blaine Warbler, you have caught me completely by surprise," Kurt said. He tilted his head to the side. "Did you plan this?"

"It was sort of…spur of the moment," Blaine said. The singers onstage began the intro to the song, and he held out his hand. "Want to?"

Kurt nodded, sliding his hand into Blaine's. Their fingers linked together in the easy comfort of long practice as Quinn started to sing.

_You think I'm pretty without any makeup on, you think I'm funny when I tell the punch line wrong…I know you'll get me, so I'll let my walls come down._

Kurt slid an arm around Blaine's waist. "You know, I think I like your spur of the moment plans," he murmured.

Blaine squeezed Kurt's shoulder. "Every so often, I'll get things right," he smiled.

_Before you met me, I was all right but things were kind of heavy…you brought me to life, now every February, you'll be my valentine…_

Kurt rested his cheek on Blaine's shoulder, swaying gently in time with the music. Blaine nudged Kurt lightly, tilting his chin to capture his lips in a soft, sweet kiss.

_No regrets…just love._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaand this is the adorable Valentine's Day mushy gushy gooey lovey goo scene we didn't get in the episode.

Yay!

On an unrelated note...

THEY CHANGED THE FONT ON THIS WEBSITE.

I DON'T LIKE CHANGE.

SOMEBODY HOLD ME.


	163. Blaine's Nana

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

Blaine woke up slowly, blinking in the sunlight. The room was as familiar as his own childhood bedroom back home, and he smiled in sleepy contentment. For as long as he could remember he'd shared this room at his grandparents' house every time he visited and woken up to gaze at the pale green walls, the brass bedstead, the white and green ivy-print comforter.

Beside him Cooper let out a loud snore, half-muffled by his pillow. Blaine rolled his eyes. His older brother's arm was slung around his waist, absently hugging him in his sleep like a stuffed animal. Blaine wriggled away from his brother's affectionate grip. They only shared a bed when they visited Nana, and Cooper never failed to get kind of…clingy.

Of course, when they were very small, Francey used to sleep in the bed with them too, snuggled up on the other side with Blaine in the middle. There were plenty of pictures in the family photo album of the three of them curled up together under the blankets, their matching dark heads nestled on the pillows. But when Cooper hit his growth spurt and started taking over the bed, Francey started pitching fits about not having enough room between the two boys and refused to share anymore. Sometimes he still missed having her comforting warmth on his other side.

Blaine rolled over and looked sleepily towards the air mattress where Kurt had been sleeping. It hadn't taken much begging to convince his family to let him take Kurt along with them to Kentucky for the annual Anderson family reunion. Kurt's family had been another story, but once Burt had been convinced that there would be plenty of supervision and his child would be safe, he'd relented.

But Kurt wasn't in his bed. The pillow was rumpled and the covers were untidily made, so clearly Kurt had slept there, but he was gone.

Blaine eased himself over the edge of the high bed and tiptoed to the door. Cooper rolled over and let out a loud cracking snore, but he didn't wake up. Blaine eased the door shut and crept down the carpeted stairs.

The kitchen echoed with the cheerful sounds of frying pans clattering, grease popping in a pan, utensils clicking. He could smell breakfast already- bacon, fried potatoes, some kind of coffee cake. His stomach rumbled. Breakfast at Nana's was always the best.

"…oh, he's always been like that."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. I've got some adorable pictures of him sitting on the top of the refrigerator when he was only three years old. We still don't know for the life of us how he managed it. His granddaddy just walked in and saw him perched up there, grinning to beat the band."

Blaine peeked around the corner. His grandmother and his boyfriend were cooking breakfast together and chatting amiably. He had never seen Kurt look more adorable- his soft brown hair sleep-mussed, his pajamas wrinkled under his pink-striped apron, a smear of flour across his cheek.

"Hand me that spatula, would you, honey lamb?" his grandmother asked. Kurt handed it over with a smile and received a fond pat on the cheek. "These eggs are perfect. Who taught you to cook like this?"

"My mother," Kurt said. "She used to put me on the counter in my baby carrier while she cooked. When I got older I used to hand her measuring spoons."

"Well, she did a good job of teaching you," Nana praised.

Francey stumbled into the kitchen, nearly knocking Blaine over, and plopped down at the table. "Oh good, you have food," she mumbled blearily. She folded her arms and dropped her head down. "I'll have coffee, please."

"You'll sit up straight and eat real food first, Francey Meg," Nana said. "And good morning to you too."

Frances mumbled something unintelligible. Kurt laughed. "I think Blaine is the only Anderson child with the morning-person gene," he said. "I can't believe he's still asleep."

"No, he's here, he's stalking you in the doorway," Francey said.

Blaine peeked into the kitchen. "Guilty," he confessed.

His grandmother kissed him on the cheek. "Morning, honey boy," she said. "Go sit down, your sweetheart and I almost have breakfast ready."

"Why does Blaine get to bring his boyfriend to visit and I don't?" Francey complained.

"Oh my stars, Francey Meg, you can't go through boys like a pack of gum and expect me to treat every single one of them like they're your Mr. Right," Nana said, exasperated. She tapped Francey on the shoulder with her wooden spoon. "You call me up when you've found yourself a man you want to keep, then you can bring him down to visit."

Blaine rubbed the small of Kurt's back. "Can I help?" he asked.

"I don't think so," Kurt said, pulling on a pair of rooster-print oven mitts. "Nana told me the story about the grits."

"The what? Oh!" Blaine said. He scratched the back of his neck. "I forgot about that."

"Well, _I _haven't," Nana said. She pinched Blaine's cheek. "By the way, don't let me forget to get out the Anderson family slides for Kurt to see."

"No! Not the slides!" the two horrified Anderson grandchildren exclaimed.

Kurt smirked. "Ooh, now I _really _have to see these…" he said.

**Author's Notes:**

GUH ROLLING IN ADORABLE BLAINE'S NANA!FEELS.

This is continuing my running thing that Blaine's mama is a southern belle. So they go down to Kentucky to visit her folks a couple of times a year, including the family reunion. AND NOW THEY HAVE KURT TOO AND NANA LOVES HIM AND YAY EVERYTHING'S HAPPY AND ADORABLE.

In other happy news THEY FIXED THE FONT ON THIS SITE HURRAY!

Except the toolbar vanished and I can't put in line breaks today.

Oh, well. You win some, you lose some.


	164. Are We Understood?

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Blaine, darling, do you mind helping me in the kitchen?" Mollie asked.<p>

Blaine quickly withdrew his arm from his brand-new boyfriend's shoulders and stood up. "Not at all, Mrs. Hummel," he said.

Kurt twisted around to look at his mother over the back of the couch. "Do you need me to help?" he asked.

Mollie cupped Kurt's chin in her hand and kissed his forehead. "No, precious," she smiled. "I'll call if I need you, okay?"

He nodded and settled back to watch the movie. Blaine wiped his damp palms on his hips and followed his boyfriend's mother into the kitchen. "What can I do?" he asked.

"Set the table for me, please?" she said. "Plates in that cupboard, silverware in the drawer."

He hastened to obey. "Thank you for letting me come over for dinner," he said. "You know…now that Kurt and I are…um, dating."

"Oh, it's our pleasure," she said, turning to the stove. "Oh, would you mind putting this on the table too?" She nodded towards a glass vase filled with yellow and white flowers. "I thought it would be a nice touch."

"The flowers are lovely," Blaine offered.

"I do like daisies," Mollie said, carefully turning the pieces of chicken in the skillet. "It's the vase I love most. Kurt got it for me for Mother's Day when he was twelve. The darling boy walked all the way to the florist's shop on Twelfth just to get me a present. We're very close, you know, Kurt and I. He talks to me about everything." Her eyes narrowed. "Everything."

Blaine swallowed hard. "Oh," he said. "That's…um, wonderful. That um…you and Kurt are…so close."

"Mm-hm," Mollie said. Her eyebrows were still drawn down, and Blaine shifted his weight anxiously. "Kurt is my only child. And while Burt has a shotgun that he keeps well-maintained, I am an elementary art school teacher who is quite well-versed in making calls home to parents." She quirked an eyebrow. "Are we understood?"

Blaine nodded.

Mollie switched off the stove and smiled brilliantly. "Dinner's ready," she said. "Call Kurt and his dad, will you?"

Blaine hightailed it out of there.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Oh, Blainers. Mollie is the sweetest person ever, but you hurt her baby and she's gonna cut you so bad you wish she didn't cut you so bad.


	165. More Sleepwalking

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt rubbed the back of his neck. "Probably ought to go to bed soon," he reminded Carole.<p>

She curled up closer, stretching her legs out on the couch. "The movie's almost over," she said, nestling her head on his shoulder. Burt smiled, dropping a kiss on her head.

Something clattered on the stairs and he stood up. "You hear that?" he said.

"Finn's probably just running into things again," Carole said. "He's always clumsy when he wakes up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom."

"No, no, it sounded like…" Burt paused. "It might've been Finn. I don't know."

He started to settle back into the couch, but he heard slow, heavy footsteps behind him. "God, if Finn's getting another midnight snack…" Carole sighed. "He's going to eat us out of house and home."

"I'll go see," Burt said. He stood up and turned to see his son wandering through the living room. "Kurt?"

"…I hafta…wanna go home," Kurt mumbled.

Burt approached him cautiously. "Kurt? Kiddo, you are home," he said. "What's wrong?"

Kurt stared blankly at the far wall. "I'm gonna…go…downstairs," he slurred. "Call Blaine."

Carole sat up. "Burt, is he sleepwalking?" she whispered.

Burt nodded, a lump growing in his throat. Kurt had a bad habit of sleepwalking when he was stressed out about something. He hadn't done it in months. "Kurt, you're okay," he said, keeping his voice soft and calm. "Let's get you back to bed."

To his growing horror, Kurt began to cry. "Blaine," he said plaintively. "Wanna…go home."

"He's worried about the surgery," Carole murmured. "Poor baby."

Burt skirted closer and gingerly pulled Kurt into a hug. "It's okay, bud," he soothed, rubbing Kurt's back. Kurt clung to him, his hands tangling in his shirtsleeves. "It's okay, Blaine's fine. Remember? His surgery was this morning. He did just fine. His parents said you could visit tomorrow after school as long as he's doing okay. Remember?"

But Kurt just clung to him, his whole body stiff, his hands digging into Burt's shoulders with a viselike grip, tears making slow tracks down his pale cheeks. Burt sighed. "Let's get you back to bed, kiddo," he said softly.

He guided Kurt up the stairs and back to his room. His bedroom was unusually cluttered, the floor scattered with various clothing items. That wasn't too much of a surprise- Kurt had been known to organize his closet while he was sleepwalking, or try to do his homework, or one time even walk all the way down the street to the park.

Burt eased Kurt down to sit on the edge of the bed. "There you go," he murmured, lifting Kurt's long legs down. "There you go, buddy."

Kurt still looked upset, his face screwed up and his blue eyes dazed. Burt tucked him in snugly and kissed his forehead. "Go to sleep, little boy," he said softly. "Everything's gonna be okay. I promise."

He sat beside Kurt's bed for a while, waiting for his eyes to ease closed. Eventually Kurt settled down, sinking into the pillow as his mouth parted in the tiniest of snores, but Burt stayed a little while longer, just to ease his own troubled mind.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I've written a couple of times about Kurt sleepwalking- usually funny ones. But this during the Michael episode, so...I imagine Kurt was pretty stressed and would start wandering around. And it would probably be super disorienting, because he'd be used to sleepwalking in his old house, before Burt got married and they moved away. Poor baby.

I've also written a drabble about what happened when he walked down the street to the park. That's a sad one. I do wonder when Kurt first started sleepwalking...I don't think I've written about that.

Speaking of which, if you'd like to prompt anything, go to my tumblr! My name is redbullandcupcakebatter, and you can use either my ask box if you're on Tumblr or my submit box if you're not. Request away!


	166. Switched

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"What the hell!" Francey exploded, charging across the locker room.<p>

"What the hell yourself, Hummel?" an amused football player said. "What're you doing in here?"

Francey ignored him, running across the room to grab a startled Karofsky by the shoulders and whirl him around. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she demanded.

"What're you talking about?" Karofsky asked, darting a glance around the room, a nervous smile playing on his lips.

"You know what I'm talking about, you asshole, you kissed my little brother!" Francey shouted.

Karofsky paled. "I…I didn't…"

"You've been pushing my baby brother around for months, and when he finally stands up to you, you sexually assault him!" she screamed. She slammed him back into the lockers. "You ass!"

Puck stood slowly, hands clenching into fists. "Wait…are you serious?" he said.

"Oh my god," Finn breathed. "So that's why…oh god."

"No, guys, it's not…she's lying…I'm not gay!" Karofsky stammered.

"Dude, I don't care if you're gay," Puck said. He rose to his full height. "But I do care if you come after Kurt. What the hell is wrong with you?" He shoved Karofsky back. "I asked you a question, jackass!"

Finn leaned over and touched Francey's shoulder. "Is Kurt okay?" he asked quietly.

"I'm taking him home. He's really shaken up," Francey whispered. She smirked as Karofsky cowered. "I'll leave our little assaulter in your capable hands, mmkay? And we'll fill Dad in tonight."

"Sounds like a plan," Finn said, squeezing his stepsister's shoulder.

Francey slipped out of the locker room and walked down the hall. Her younger brother huddled on a bench, knees drawn to his chest. "Hey, babe," she said, cupping his cheek. "Ready to go home?"

He nodded. "More than ready," he said fervently.

Francey tugged him into her side and kissed his temple. "Let's go home and eat our bodyweight in Ben and Jerry's, KK," she said. She rubbed his arm. "This is all going to be okay. I promise."

* * *

><p>Blaine struggled to catch his breath. His mouth tasted like blood.<p>

"Like that, little faggot? Yeah, you can beg for it."

Someone kicked him in the ribs again. Blaine didn't have the strength to cry out.

"Haven't heard you beg yet!" one of his tormenters jeered. "Nobody's gonna save you. Better beg us to stop."

Blaine closed his eyes tightly, struggling to protect his face. "Say it! Say it!"

"No one's gonna save you!"

The worst part was…he knew they were right.

"I'm sorry!" he sobbed, his voice cracking, spiraling high. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please stop! Stop!'

But they didn't stop.

And no one saved him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I love it when weird AU prompts pop up in my askbox! This one was for a drabble about what it would be like if Francey was Kurt's sister instead of Blaine's. At first I was excited, because if Francey found out that Karofsky kissed her beloved baby brother, she'd punch him into next Tuesday.

And then I realized that if Blaine didn't have a sister, there wouldn't be anyone to rescue him at the Sadie Hawkins dance. And then I was sad.


	167. Confidential

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Mollie knew something was up.<p>

She was stretched out on the couch, reading a book, when her teenage son scooted into the living room and curled up beside her.

"What are you up to, baby?" she asked as Kurt nestled beside her, tucking his chin against her shoulder. She brushed his hair back and kissed his forehead. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I feel fine," he said, cuddling against her.

"Honey, I'm trying to read," she smiled. She stroked the back of his neck. "Do you want to talk about something?"

"No," he said, snuggling closer and nosing her book away. She turned a page. He cleared his throat. "Mom?"

She rolled her eyes and closed the book, dropping it on the end table. "Yes, darling son?" she said.

"You'll always love me, right?"

"Of course," she said.

"Even if I'm grown up?"

"You'll always be my baby."

"No matter what I've done?"

Mollie squeezed his arm. "Kurt, just tell me what's going on," she said.

Kurt sat up, his hair ruffled. "I…I slept with Blaine," he said in a small voice.

It took Mollie a moment to let it sink in. Her baby had sex. Her baby wasn't a virgin. Her baby…wasn't her baby anymore.

"Honey," she said softly. His face paled; she reached over and rubbed his knee. "Honey, were you safe? You used protection?"

He nodded.

"You did it because you wanted to, not because you felt pressured to do it?"

He nodded.

"And you love Blaine."

He nodded.

Mollie sat up and pulled her son into a gentle hug. "Then…baby, I'm happy for you," she said. His head dropped in relief on her shoulder. "And I'm glad you told me."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>:

I feel like Kurt would have talked to his mother about everything if she had lived. They would have been super close. And I think he would have turned out to be a completely different person.


	168. The Prom Queen's Consort

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Tell me what happened," Francey said, struggling to keep her voice calm.<p>

Blaine sat on the edge of couch, back stiff. "They crowned Kurt prom queen," he said in a low voice. "He ran out of the gym in tears. He was devastated. I couldn't…"

His voice trailed off. Francey knotted her fingers together. She knew what he was remembering.

"He went back in, though," Blaine said. "He wouldn't let them win. He…sashayed in there and took his crown and told them to eat their hearts out."

Francey grinned wryly. "Sounds like Kurt," she said. "He's a scrappy little fighter under all that hairspray."

Blaine pulled off his tux jacket and threw it on the floor. "I didn't do anything!" he burst out. "I should have done something. Told them off, gotten Kurt out of there…"

"What did you do?" Francey asked.

Blaine sorted of smiled. "I danced with him," he said. "He got abandoned on the dance floor, and I could see him just…start panicking. He looked so scared, and I…well, I went up and asked him to dance."

He looked over his shoulder at her, his whole body caving in on itself. "It's the first time I've danced with a boy since…"

His lips trembled. Francey pulled him into a fierce hug, crushing him to her chest. Blaine wrapped his arms tightly around her neck.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****alllll the sad Blaaaaaaaine feeeeeeeels.

It's ironic too, because the drabble I'm posting on my Tumblr today is about the prom episode. But remember how a while back I wrote a drabble about Blaine preparing for the prom by bringing emergency things, just in case something happened? Yeah. The prompter wanted me to write what would happen if something did go wrong.

I have never written an angrier or sadder Burt Hummel scene. Not even in Goodnight.


	169. Post Slushie Hospital Visit

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt winced as the doctor probed his face. Burt squeezed his knee. "Well, it's not bad, but it's not good," the doctor said, eyeing the damage with concern.<p>

"Give it to me straight," Burt said. Kurt hung his head, looking small and forlorn as he hunched on the medical table. Burt stroked his back.

"The burns themselves aren't too damaging," the doctor said. "Mostly first degree. The worst is right here, on the apples of his cheeks and his nose. What I'm concerned about is how widespread the burns are, and the fact that he's spiking a fever."

"So what can we do?" Burt asked. He kept his hand on Kurt's back, holding him steady.

"I'm going to prescribe an antibiotic cream to help with the worst of the burns," the doctor said. "Ice packs will help with the swelling too. But I'm going to go ahead and admit him. I'm concerned about him staying hydrated, and I'd like to keep him under observation."

"But I don't-" Kurt started to protest.

Burt shook his head. "Go ahead," he said.

The doctor nodded, already drawing up the paperwork. "Dad, please," Kurt pleaded. "I hate hospitals."

"I know, but you need to do what the doctor says," Burt said. "You're not doing well at all, kid." He smoothed Kurt's hair. "You'll just stay at the hospital for a little while, make sure you're doing okay."

"I'm fine," Kurt begged. "Dad, I'm fine. I promise. I'll go home and rest."

Kurt's eyes were dark blue compared to the redness of his face. Burt sighed and touched the back of his hand to Kurt's forehead. "You've got burns all of your face, your cheeks are puffed up like a hamster's, and you're running a fever," he said. "You're going to the hospital, kiddo, and that's that."

"But Dad…" Kurt said.

Burt hugged an arm around his son's shoulders. "I want you to get better, kiddo," he said. He kissed Kurt's temple. "I need you to get better. I can't get anything done without you, you know."

Kurt huddled against him, quiet and obedient. Burt rubbed his back lightly, feeling the bumps of his son's spine through the fabric of his tee shirt, and wished for the millionth time that he knew how to protect his little boy.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****This is a sort of follow-up to my oneshot Never Enough- basically, if Blaine hadn't pushed Kurt out of harm's way in time and the slushie hit him instead. So if you're confused, you can read the oneshot. And if you're not confused, then here, have a little more!

I've also been requested to write a second follow-up, with Blaine visiting him in the hospital, so that'll probably happen at some point.

I ALSO WANT TO GIVE A BIG HUG TO WHENITRAINS7. BECAUSE SHE REVIEWED ALL THE CHAPTERS AND READ ALL THE THINGS AND I LOVE HER.

OR HIM. SOMETIMES IT'S REALLY HARD TO TELL WHAT GENDER A PERSON IDENTIFIES AS ON THE INTERNETS.

WHENITRAINS7 IS MY NEW FAVORITE INDIVIDUAL. YAY!


	170. No Regrets

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine exhaled deeply, his breath soft against Kurt's flushed skin. Kurt cuddled closer, warm and pliant. "How're you feeling?" he asked.<p>

"Tired," Kurt said, his voice soft and drowsy. "A little sore. Happy."

Blaine smiled, rubbing his thumb against Kurt's smooth wrist. "That's the most important part," he said. "That you're happy."

Kurt's hand crept to the front of Blaine's shirt, his slender fingers stroking his chest and tangling in the worn cotton. "What about you?" he asked.

"What about what?" Blaine asked. He raised his knees a little, resting Kurt's calves against him.

Kurt looked up at him from under a thick fringe of lashes, his eyes sleepy and very, very blue. "Are you happy?" he asked.

Blaine's smile widened and he brushed his nose lightly against Kurt's. "Unspeakably," he said.

Kurt snuggled even closer, his tousled head sinking into Blaine's pillow. "No regrets?" he said.

Blaine pulled Kurt to his chest, pressing his cheek to the top of his head as Kurt nestled into his special spot in the curve of his shoulder. "None at all," he promised. He pecked Kurt's lips lightly, the touch lingering just a little, the only sound in their sacred little world. "Never any regrets."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****LOL THIS IS PROBABLY AS CLOSE AS YOU'LL EVER GET TO ME WRITING ABOUT SEXYTIMES.

But this is how I imagine their conversation when they cuddle during The First Time.


	171. Auditions

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine paused, his scarf falling from his fingers. "Kurt?" he said.<p>

His boyfriend sat forlornly on a bench outside the history building, his head down and his shoulders slumped. Blaine pulled his scarf around his neck and walked over to him. "Kurt? What's wrong?" he asked gently, sitting down beside him.

Kurt stared blankly at the frostbitten grass below, his skin tinged blue and his eyes red-rimmed. "I didn't get it," he rasped in a small voice.

"Get what?" Blaine asked, wrapping an arm around his back.

"The part," Kurt said. "I failed the audition."

Blaine pulled him in closer. "Honey, I'm so sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"They didn't even let me finish singing," Kurt said. "Or do my monologue. They just…sent me out."

"I'm sorry," Blaine said again, helplessly.

Kurt's face crumpled. "I can't do this," he sobbed. "I can't do this anymore."

"Yes, you can," Blaine coaxed, rubbing Kurt's back firmly through his thick winter coat. "I know you can. You're so talented, babe."

"If I'm so talented, why can't I get cast in anything?" Kurt burst out. "It's been two years since we got to New York, Blaine, and no one will cast me in anything! I've been to so many auditions. I've done everything I can. And _nobody _will cast me!"

Blaine pulled him to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around him and wishing he could strangle the directors that made his boyfriend cry. "You haven't done anything wrong," he whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple. "You're so incredibly talented, and you work so hard."

"I'm just not what they're looking for," Kurt said bitterly. "I'm never what they're looking for."

"But you will be," Blaine said, rubbing Kurt's arms. "Someday, you're going to find that perfect audition, and the minute you walk in the room they're going to see what I see…someone so handsome and talented and perfect. And you're going to forget all about those other parts you didn't get, because it'll be the kind of part you've always dreamed about." He cupped Kurt's gloved hands in his. "Don't let this end you, baby."

Kurt dropped his forehead on Blaine's shoulder. "Can it end me for tonight?" he asked tiredly.

"Just for tonight," Blaine said. "Start again in the morning?" Kurt nodded. Blaine kissed his cold ear. "Let's go home, babe. You're freezing. I think icicles are growing off your nose."

Kurt sort of smiled at that. Blaine stood up, shouldering his messenger bag, and helped Kurt to his feet. "I really would have been perfect for that part," he said.

"I know," Blaine said. "I know how much you wanted it." He took Kurt by the hand, linking their gloved fingers together. "Don't let it get to you. Please don't let it eat you up."

Kurt swiped at his eyes and took a deep breath, looking up at the gloomy gray winter sky. "I'll try," he said.

Blaine bit his lip. "Let's go get some hot chocolate," he said, squeezing Kurt's hand. "With lots of whipped cream. And sprinkles."

Kurt half-laughed. "I'm not a six-year-old who lost a tooth," he said.

"Hey, I'm trying to cheer you up," Blaine said, nudging him lightly. "You keep fussing and I'll make you eat a cupcake too."

Kurt said something snarky back; Blaine squeezed his hand tighter. He wasn't stupid. He knew that hot chocolate wouldn't do anything. He knew that Kurt was broken and discouraged. He knew there was a very good chance that he would come home some night to find Kurt curled up on the living room couch again, crying into his folded arms.

But he'd be damned if he let Kurt give up without a fight.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****In case you were ever curious, auditions are the worst things ever. Seriously ever. Ever ever ever.

And I'm going to one on Thursday. OH GOD SOMEONE HOLD ME.


	172. Booty Shorts

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Uh…what are you wearing?"<p>

Kurt promptly flipped out of the hammock. "Oh my god, Blaine, don't scare me like that!" he wheezed, pulling his earbuds out and brushing the dirt from his bare legs. "What are you doing here?"

Blaine stared blankly. "You told me everyone was gone…so I thought I would come over and…see if you…wanted to do something," he said. His eyes were as wide as saucers

Kurt huffed, brushing at his hair. "Dad and Finn are at an auto show in Cincinnati and Carole's at work," he said. "Honestly, Blaine, when someone has a _gated backyard, _it usually means they enjoy their privacy. You could have knocked, or called to see if you could come over."

Blaine pointed to Kurt's phone, resting on the deck railing. Kurt leaned over to check Four missed call alerts. "Well, you could have knocked," he huffed. "You almost gave me a heart attack! And could you please stop staring at me?"

"Only if you tell me what you're wearing," Blaine said faintly.

"We're not having phone sex, Blaine, I'm in shorts and a tank top," Kurt said. He glanced down. "Wait…oh."

"You're wearing _booty _shorts," Blaine said. A slow wicked smile spread across his face. "Aha. We've reached a milestone in our relationship. Not only have I seen you in something entirely casual and unfashionable, but you're wearing-"

"Yes, Blaine, I know what I'm wearing!" Kurt snapped, the back of his neck turning pink. "They were a birthday present from Brittany, and they're really comfortable, and it was so hot today…"

"You are nothing but legs," Blaine said in admiration, looking him up and down. "It's amazing. So that's what you've been hiding from me."

"You've seen me in shorts before!" Kurt protested, the pink color creeping to his ears.

"Not like this," Blaine said. He swallowed hard. "So…how do you feel about making out in hammocks?"

"Clumsy and I'll probably fall out," Kurt said.

"So…we're making out inside, then," Blaine said, taking Kurt by the hand and tugging him into the house.

"But I was going to-"

"Those shorts are entirely indecent. I think I need to teach you a lesson," Blaine teased.

"Blaine! The neighbors can hear you!" Kurt scolded, scandalized…yet secretly pleased.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I think this is the third time that I've mentioned the booty shorts that Brittany gave to Kurt for his birthday. I really think I need to write a drabble about that particular moment. QUICK SOMEONE GO TO MY TUMBLR ASKBOX AND PROMPT THAT.

They're blue and very short and say "cutie" on the butt.

And now.

The image of Kurt Hummel in blue booty shorts.

There's your happy thought for the day.

You're welcome.


	173. Emily Graduates

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Do not cry," Kurt hissed in his father's ear. "Dad, if you cry, then I'll cry, and then the whole family's going to be a mess."<p>

"Can't help it," Burt whispered back. "Carole's already lost it."

Kurt leaned around his father to pat at his stepmother's knee. "Please, Mom, don't cry," he said.

"I just can't help it," Carole sniffled, dabbing at her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief. "My baby girl's all grown up."

"They haven't even called her name yet," Kurt objected, but his eyes were already beginning to prickle.

"Parents, family, and friends, we will now begin the presentation of diplomas to the William McKinley High School graduating class of 2029," Miss Pillsbury said in her sweet little voice, echoing across the football field. "Beau William Allan."

Kurt reached over and squeezed Blaine's hand, who squeezed back tightly. It seemed like just yesterday he was walking across that rickety stage himself, accepting his high school diploma and turning his tassel. But he was thirty-five years old, a married father of two, and it was his baby sister's turn to graduate from high school.

"Lorelei Elizabeth Fabray."

Finn leaned around Kurt. "God, Kurt, we're old," he whispered. "Emily's graduating."

"Did you just realize that?" Kurt whispered back, but he smiled as Finn swiped at his eyes. It didn't seem right for Emily to be graduating. She needed to be their baby sister again, toddling around the house and cooing their names and tugging at their pants legs until they picked her up. But she was nearly eighteen, driving Kurt's old but refurbished Navigator around town and kissing her boyfriend (that horrible, horrible boyfriend) and packing up her belongings so she could attend college in the fall.

"Jamison Ellis Gray."

"Oh my god, she's next," Blaine murmured, dabbing at a tear welling in the corner of his eye. "Kurt…in a few years it'll be our baby."

"Don't think about that," Kurt said, forcing the image of their sweet little firstborn in a cheap satin cap and gown. "Don't think about that, you'll make me cry."

"Emily Carys Hudson-Hummel."

The whole Hudson-Hummel-Anderson-Berry clan burst into noisy applause as Emily sashayed across the stage. She wore a pair of bright yellow Manolos Blahniks- a graduation present from Kurt- that shone beautifully against her white graduation robe, and her soft brown hair bounced in carefully tamed curls around her shoulders. Emily paused to take her diploma and smile at the camera, then stood on tiptoes to search the crowd. The second she spotted her family she broke into a ridiculously wide grin, waving enthusiastically until Miss Pillsbury cleared her throat and she skipped off the stage.

Kurt swallowed down the lump in his throat, relieved that he didn't cry. Beside him, his father was hiding his face in his hand. Kurt sighed and patted Burt's back. "Go on, Dad, indulge in those manly tears," he said.

"I can't help it," Burt said, his voice muffled. "She's so damn beautiful."

Kurt settled back in his seat as Blaine looked up and blinked furiously. So far, he'd refrained from crying. Good. He could do this. It wouldn't be a problem. It was all downhill from there.

They finished calling names and presenting diplomas, and Principal Figgins took the mic. "And now, ladies and gentlemen, before we finish today's graduation exercises, the McKinley High glee club, the New Directions, will sing the number that won them the national title," he droned.

Kurt's heart seized. _Oh no, Emmy's going to sing, _he thought.

He watched, heart fluttering in his chest, as Rachel stepped up to the front and guided the glee club to center stage. She had taken over the glee club a few years ago and done an amazing job, and Emily had had to earn her solos the same as everyone else, even though her sister-in-law was her director. And she'd gone out with a bang.

Brad- still the pianist after all these years- began the introduction to "Seasons of Love" in soft, measured chords. Kurt felt his throat grow thick. The glee club sang beautifully, voices blending in easy harmonies. But that wasn't what he was worried about.

Emily stepped up to the front and stood in front of the microphone, hands clasped behind her back like she used to do when she was a little girl and wanted to ask her brothers or parents for something. She sang Joanne's part in a clear, powerful voice, sliding easily across the melody and soaring on the sustained notes.

Kurt didn't realize he was crying until Blaine wrapped an arm around his shoulders and silently handed him a tissue. "She's grown up," he whispered. "My little sister's all grown up."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****AW ALL THE TEARS.

I don't even remember writing this one, though. I must have...

...you know you write too many drabbles when you start forgetting them.


	174. Lemonade and Dandelions

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Mollie squeezed her son's little hand as they walked down the sidewalk. "Having fun, KK?" she asked.<p>

Her five-year-old nodded eagerly, taking a little skip midstride to keep up with her. "I like the park," he informed her.

"Well, good," she said, swinging their clasped hands between them. "Now that school's out for the summer, we can go to the park all the time if you want. How does that sound?"

"Yes!" Kurt said. He took a big hop forward. "And swimming? Can we go swimming, Mommy?"

"Yes, honey, we can go swimming," she promised.

They strolled through the neighborhood, the early summer sun beating down on their necks. Kurt paused to take a close look at a patch of little yellow flowers growing around a mailbox; she waited patiently until he had peered at them to his heart's content. Mollie rubbed her thumb against the back of his soft hand. "What should we make for dinner for Daddy tonight?" she asked. "Do you think he'd like- Kurt?"

Kurt stopped stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at the house they were about to pass. Mollie frowned. "What are you looking at, baby?" she asked.

She followed his gaze. A small lemonade stand was set up at the end of the driveway, a cheerfully crooked-letter sign propped up against it. A little boy, probably her son's age, sat behind it, one baby-round cheek resting on his hand in an air of dejected boredom. He straightened up when he saw Mollie and Kurt approaching and broke into a bright, sunshiny smile.

Mollie knelt down and wrapped her arms around Kurt's waist. He leaned into her a little bit. "I don't have any money for lemonade, honey," she said. "I'm sorry. Maybe we can make some lemonade when we get home, okay?"

He frowned, his lower lip dropping into a puppy-dog pout, and wriggled out of her grasp. Mollie watched him make his way towards the lemonade stand, but when the other child smiled at Kurt, Kurt faltered. His cheeks turned very pink and he dropped his gaze to stare at his feet, digging the toe of his little brown sandal into the ground.

The little boy smiled at Kurt. He was a handsome child, dark-haired and dark-eyed, and his charming smile spread so wide that deep dimples popped in his round cheeks. Kurt's blush intensified.

Mollie stood up and walked over to Kurt. He wrapped an arm around her leg and ducked behind her, his small fingers gripping the skirt of her long pink dress. "I'm sorry, sweetie, we don't have any money for lemonade," she apologized.

The boy's face fell a little, but he nodded. Kurt suddenly pulled away from the safety of her side and darted down the sidewalk. "Kurt!" she scolded, startled by his sudden move. Her sudden spike of terror calmed when he stopped at the last mailbox and dropped to his knees to pick several of the yellow flowers. Mollie smiled.

Kurt worked steadily, plucking dandelions until he had a good-sized bouquet. He broke off the dangling roots and brushed away the dirt, frowning in concentration, and when his flowers looked pretty enough to suit him, he walked right past his mother and went up to the little boy at the booth.

He held out the flowers shyly, the pink blush on his cheeks covering his light freckles. The dark-haired boy took the flowers with a wide smile, petting at the blooms lightly. He nudged a Dixie cup of lemonade towards Kurt, who picked it up and took a small sip.

Kurt regarded the other child solemnly over the edge of his cup, gazing at him from under his long lashes. The dark-haired boy hugged the dandelions in his hands, yellow pollen making a smear on his cheek. Mollie watched them silently, feeling as if there was an entire conversation happening that she simply couldn't translate.

When the cup was empty, Kurt placed it carefully in the trash can by the booth and backed away towards his mother. "What do you say to the nice boy, KK?" Mollie asked, smoothing Kurt's silky hair.

"Thank you," Kurt blurted out, and immediately hid his face against his mother's hip.

The dark-haired boy flushed bright red. "You're welcome!" he piped up, so enthusiastic that he rose up on the tips of his toes.

Kurt grabbed Mollie's hand and tugged her down the sidewalk. Mollie smiled over her shoulder at the little boy who'd made her son so happy, and squeezed Kurt's hand. "That was very nice of him, wasn't it?" she commented.

Kurt nodded, the sun glinting off his hair like a halo. "He's real nice," he said in a soft voice, and Mollie scooped him up to give him a kiss.

* * *

><p>Cooper languidly turned the page of his Teen People magazine. Babysitting duty sucked, but at least he only had to watch his two little half-siblings for a few hours until his stepmother came home, and then he could go to the movies with Amber. Besides, Francey was eight and could handle Blaine pretty well without him, meaning that he could lounge on the porch while the kids played in the yard.<p>

"Coop, I gotta pee!" Francey shouted as she darted past him into the house.

"Wash your hands when you're done!" he shouted back. He rolled his eyes. Great. Now he had to watch Blaine all by himself.

His small half-brother sat alone at the makeshift lemonade stand, swinging his legs back and forth. Cooper watched him warily, then turned back to his magazine.

The next time he looked up, a young woman and a little boy stood in front of the lemonade stand. The boy was about Blaine's age, maybe a little younger- definitely a little smaller- dressed in a white short-sleeved hoodie shirt and blue shorts. He looked just like his young mother- same brown hair, same blue eyes, same fair skin.

The boy held out a bouquet of dandelions, his cheeks turning pink. Blaine took them and held out a cup for lemonade for the boy to take; he sipped it while peering shyly at Blaine from under his long sun-gilded lashes. Cooper frowned. Francey was going to be mad if she found out her little brother was giving away drinks for free.

The smaller child threw the empty cup away and then hid his face in the skirt of his mother's rose pink dress. Blaine popped up from his chair to say something, and the other boy grabbed his mom's hand and dragged her away down the sidewalk.

When the mom and her little kid had left, Cooper tossed his magazine aside on the Adirondack chair and shuffled through the thick grass towards his half-brother. "Who was that, Blaine?" he asked.

"I dunno," Blaine said, raising up on his toes. "I think he was a prince."

"Why'd you gave him a free cup of lemonade?" Cooper asked, perplexed.

"Because he gave me flowers!" Blaine chirped. He waved them in Cooper's face. "See? See? Aren't they pretty?"

"They're weeds," Cooper said flatly.

Not to be deterred, Blaine hugged them to his chest, smearing yellow pollen across his face and clothes. "I love him," he sighed.

Cooper frowned. "You love the weeds?" he said.

"No, silly," Blaine said. "I love _him_."

Cooper ruffled Blaine's silky curls. "You're five, what do you know about love?" he scoffed affectionately.

"Five and a _half!" _Blaine corrected loudly, pummeling a small fist into Cooper's thigh. "And, and I _love _him, Coop. I decided."

"Yeah?" Cooper said. "If you love him so much, why don't you marry him?"

He expected his baby brother to shriek about _ew, I don't want to marry a boy!, _but all Blaine did was stick his snub nose in the air. "Maybe I will," he declared.

"You're so dumb," Cooper said, poking Blaine playfully.

"Mama said you can't call me dumb, and don't poke my tummy," Blaine howled. "I'll tell Francey!"

Cooper paused. The last time Blaine tattled to Francey, Francey came back and bit him. "Okay, okay, truce," he said, holding his hands in surrender. Blaine placed the dandelion bouquet carefully on the lemonade stand, and while he least suspected it, Cooper reached over and swooped Blaine up, flipping him upside down with his legs hanging over his shoulder. "Aha! The element of surprise!"

"No, Coop, no!" Blaine laughed. "No! Don't tickle me! Put me down!"

They chased each other around the yard for a while, Francey joining in the fun with a wild hoydenish yell, and their parents came home startled to see the three of them actually getting along for once. The golden dandelion bouquet, limp and wilting and brown around the edges, was mistaken for a bundle of weeds and thrown away, leaving Blaine in a bout of inconsolable tears when he was tucked into bed that night. The lemonade stand lost its novelty and was junked in the shed, abandoned.

In fact, the whole incident was forgotten until a lazy summer afternoon barbecue on the Andersons' back porch, when Blaine and Kurt were idling away the time in the backyard, bare legs tangled up as Blaine dropped a tangled dandelion crown on Kurt's sun-bright head with a laugh and a kiss, and Cooper realized with a start and a sudden ache why that deja-vu feeling always clung to his younger brother's boyfriend like an aura.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I wrote this for my sweet CB, who drew the darlingest picture of sweet baby Blaine at a lemonade stand. Of course, it was impossible to write baby Blaine without a baby Kurt, and so...well, this happened.

Also there is bonus Cooper.

And the image of Kurt with a flower crown is too adorable for words. It makes me want to write fantasy!AU!Klaine...

Ooooooh, someone should prompt that.


	175. Projectiles

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine had discovered that being in a relationship was full of surprises.<p>

Like finding out how adorable Kurt's hair looked in the morning.

Or learning that he was utterly powerless when faced with Kurt's puppy dog pout. (Luckily, that one went both ways.)

Or discovering what Kurt needed when he was upset, how to comfort him, what to say to dry his tears and bring a smile back.

He was not, however, quite sure of what the plan was when your boyfriend unexpectedly projectile vomits.

They were sitting on the bleachers, chatting amiably with Rachel while they waited for Finn to finish up at football practice. Well, now that he thought about it, it had been mostly a conversation between him and Rachel. Kurt had been fairly quiet.

But in any case, they had been sitting there in companionable conversation until suddenly Kurt doubled over and threw up all over the ground.

They both stared at him for a second, and then Rachel screamed. "Oh my god!" she shrieked. "Oh my god, what's wrong with you! Are you dying? Oh my god, don't puke on me!"

Kurt's shoulders twitched and he threw up again, his forehead nearly resting on his knees.

Blaine scrambled down to Kurt's level, his steps echoing on the metal bleachers, and took Kurt by the elbows. "Hey, baby, hey, you're all right, you're okay," he said, his voice sounding louder than he intended.

"I don't feel well," Kurt wheezed. "I don't feel well at all."

"I know, honey, I know," Blaine said, rubbing Kurt's shaking back. "Are you going to-"

Kurt threw up again, the sound fading into a tight, panicked moan at the end. "Oh my _god_," Rachel exclaimed again.

"Shut up," Blaine said sharply, wrapping his arms around Kurt's chest and hoisting him to his feet. Kurt shook like a leaf in his embrace and a sudden spike of panic shot through Blaine's heart. "You're not helping, Rachel, you're just…go get Finn, okay?"

Rachel bolted, taking off like a shot down the football field. Blaine smoothed his hand over Kurt's stomach. "Tell me what's wrong, baby," he entreated. "When did you start feeling sick?"

"After lunch," Kurt whimpered. "I think…it tasted funny. It tasted funny, and I ate it anyway, but I thought that if I just…got through it, I could make it till I could get home, but I forgot about waiting for Finn, and…"

"You should have told me," Blaine said, hugging Kurt tightly. "I can't help if you don't tell me." He kissed the top of his head. "You've got to let me in, honey. I can't help if you don't tell me anything."

"I'm sorry!" Kurt sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I just-"

He doubled over again and Blaine bit back his upset, panicky retort. "You're okay," he said again. "You're going to be okay."

When the last bout of vomiting finished, he gently pulled Kurt upright and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. Kurt's eyes had gone gray and red-rimmed and watery. "You're warm," Blaine murmured, touching the back of his hand to his damp cheek. He carefully stripped off the outer layers of his clothes, taking off jacket and tie and vest. Kurt sniffed hard, avoiding Blaine's gaze.

Finn and Rachel ran up, Rachel hiding behind Finn's elbow. "What's wrong?" Finn demanded. "Rachel keeps shouting at me and…oh, god, Kurt, are you-"

Kurt threw up all over Blaine's shoes.

For the first time, Blaine didn't feel the sudden urge to sympathy puke. All he could see was Kurt- the flush in his cheeks, the tears in his eyes, the absolute misery in slumped shoulders, and he grabbed onto him. "It's okay, it's okay, don't cry," Blaine begged. He leaned Kurt's head against his shoulder and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sh, sh, sh."

Without waiting to hear the rest of the story, Finn scooped his younger brother up; Kurt's arms wrapped around his neck like a tired child's. "We'll take him home," he said. "Dad's at work but he'll come home if Kurt's sick." Kurt whimpered, hands tangling in the neckline of Finn's sweaty tee shirt, and Finn pressed his cheek to Kurt's forehead. "Geez, he's burning up."

"Let's just get him home and get him cleaned up, okay?" Blaine said. He squeezed Kurt's limp hand. "You'll be okay, sweetheart. We'll get you home."

Getting him home was easier said that done. Kurt hunched over Blaine's lap, forehead pressed to his hip, striving to keep from throwing up. Blaine tried to soothe him- rubbing his back, stroking his hair, kissing his neck- but nothing could calm him or soothe the stiffness of his spine until they had pulled into the driveway and Finn had picked him up to carry him inside.

The second they got Kurt upstairs, he broke away and stumbled into the bathroom. Blaine followed at his heels, trying to help even though he didn't know how or what to try. He just knelt on the cold tile floor, his arm curved around Kurt's waist and his hand against his chest, supporting him as he coughed and cried.

When Kurt finally caught his breath and fell back into Blaine's lap, Blaine pressed a kiss to his damp temple. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up," he murmured. "Can you stand?"

Kurt struggled to stand and fell back, shaking his head. Blaine kissed the top of his head. "Stay here, then," he said. "I'll be right back, okay? I'll be right back."

He hastily pulled together a change of clothes from Kurt's pajama drawer and ran a washcloth under a cold tap. Kurt huddled against the wall, his arms wrapped around his knees. "Here, babe," he said, kneeling beside him. "Let me see you."

"I'm gross," Kurt whimpered. "I'm so gross. You can go home, Blaine, I'll be fine, I'm just…"

Blaine smoothed the cool wet washcloth over Kurt's cheek, watching his eyes flutter shut. "You're going to sit here quietly and let me take care of you," he said. "I'm not leaving you, okay?"

Kurt bit his lip and nodded. Blaine gently bathed his hot face and neck, cooling his feverish skin, and helped him change out of his dirty, sweaty school clothes and into an old drama camp tee shirt and a pair of yoga pants.

He helped Kurt off the floor and half-carried him to his bed, pulling back the blankets so he could lie down. Finn stuck his head in. "Dad's on his way home," he said. "He said there's some medicine in the downstairs bathroom, and to keep him hydrated. I brought some Gatorade." He sat down on the edge of Kurt's bed. "You doing okay?"

Kurt sort of nodded, biting his lip hard. "He'll be all right," Blaine said. He set a trash can down beside the bed and sat down beside Kurt. Kurt's fingers reached tentatively to tangle with his and he squeezed them lightly. "I'll be right here, baby. No matter what."

He stroked Kurt's cheek, his chest relaxing when he finally saw Kurt smile faintly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Two of my running gags in one story!- Blaine is a sympathy puker/hypochondriac, and Kurt pukes incessantly.

Seriously, have you noticed this?! Blaine is a major hypochondriac- which, honestly, is fun to write. And then Kurt pukes all the time. There's one drabble I wrote with little!Kurt and little!Finn discussing this, and little!Finn makes fun of him, and little!Kurt just sticks his nose in the air and primly retorts "my mommy has a sensitive tummy."

Yeah, Kurt, that's putting it mildly. STOP PUKING IN MY STORIES, OKAY?

Although it's really funny to write sometimes. Especially since he gets carsick. I think I've written about that. Have I written about that? I don't know. I think I've at least mentioned it.

I really need to build a separate tumblr or livejournal to keep all my stories properly indexed and in chronological order, don't I?


	176. Lucy Runs Interference

****Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p><strong>From: Blaine Anderson<strong>

**4:12pm**

_Kurt's cheating on me._

Lucy shrieked. Half a dozen library patrons swiveled around to stare at her; she smiled apologetically and crouched down to crawl under the table for her phone. She sat down cross-legged on the floor and typed a reply.

**From: Lucy Trevelyan**

**4:13pm**

_What alternate universe are you texting from, sir?_

She pulled herself back up from under the table and set her phone down beside the biography of Henrik Ibsen. It hadn't even been a minute before her phone buzzed again. The girl sitting across from her scowled and scooted her encyclopedia further away.

**From: Blaine Anderson**

**4:14pm**

_He met some guy at the music store and they've been flirting nonstop and I'm so pissed off and he doesn't care. He just doesn't care anymore. Nobody cares._

Lucy blew out a mouthful of air slowly, lifting her bangs off her forehead.

**From: Lucy Trevelyan**

**4:15pm**

_Give me a second babe I'll call you._

She gathered up her books and papers, dumped all but the copy of _The Effects of Gamma Rays in Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds _in the return slot, checked out the slim volume, and dropped her belongings on the bench outside the library. With a heavy sigh she punched in Blaine's speed dial; he picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Blaine, can you please tell me why you think Kurt's cheating on you?" she said. "This is Kurt we're talking about right? Our Kurt? Blue eyes, five-foot-ten, dimple in his left cheek Kurt?"

"Yes," Blaine said, slow and sullen.

"Honey, I don't know why Kurt would cheat on you," she said gently. "Tell me what's going on."

And he did. She wasn't used to Blaine being such an effusive talker, but she was used to being a pretty decent listener. So she sat outside the St. Liliana's library, watching a row of ants straggle past her shoe, listening.

She guessed he was done when he took a long shuddering breath. "It just…hurts," he said, quiet and faint.

"I don't blame you," she said. She moved the phone from one ear to the other. "First of all…how are you doing? How are you holding up?"

"I don't know," he muttered. "I'm just…I'm here, I guess."

She rubbed her temple. "Have you talked to him?" she asked.

"We haven't talked at all since I found out," he said. "I wasn't snooping, I wasn't…I mean, I thought that something was up…he was so distant and he kept giggling at his phone and I just…"

His voice trailed off. "So you're sure he's cheating," Lucy said. "And when I say cheating, I mean…meeting up with this guy. Going on dates. Kissing. Is it that kind of cheating?"

"He says no," Blaine said.

"He says?" Lucy repeated. "Do you believe him?"

She practically see his unhappy, apathetic shrug. "I guess."

"Did you ask Kurt if he was cheating?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"He said no."

"Have you ever had a reason to believe Kurt was lying?"

"…no."

"Then he's not cheating on you."

"But he is cheating!" Blaine burst out. "If you had seen all the crap he's been getting, all the texts he's been sending back…he's cheating! Don't make it sound like he isn't!"

"I never said that Kurt did anything wrong," she said, keeping her voice gentle. "I'm just confirming that he's not dating this guy. He's not kissing him." She sighed. "But he's not making smart decisions."

"He's breaking my heart," Blaine said softly, and Lucy covered her eyes with her hand.

"I know," she said. "I know he is." She took a deep breath. "Can I be honest with you?"

There was a slight pause. "I suppose," Blaine said.

Lucy rubbed the side of her nose, praying she would pick the right words. "I don't think that Kurt would…look for attention and affection in someplace other than you unless something had changed," she said. "Has anything changed between you two? At all? Even in some small way?"

"No," Blaine said slowly.

"That sounds like a yes," she said.

She could hear his breath catch over the line. "I'm going to lose him."

"You're not going to lose him," she reassured him.

"Yes, I am," he snapped, and she closed her eyes, reminding the angry boy she'd met three years earlier. "He's leaving, Lucy. He's leaving, and he's going to leave me behind. He's going to move on without me. It's just starting sooner than I expected. He's already giving up on me. Everyone gives up on me."

"No, they don't," she said. "And how do you know that he's leaving you behind?"

"I just know."

"Have you talked about it? About him leaving?"

"Are you kidding?" Blaine laughed, sharp and bitter. "It's all we ever talk about. NYADA, NYADA. If I hear NYADA one more time, I'm going to-"

"Not NYADA," she interrupted. "Have you talked about him leaving? About what that's going to look like?"

Silence.

"You need to talk to him," she said softly. "Kurt would never just give up on you without a fight. He's too stubborn for that."

Blaine chuckled a little at that, a soft reluctant sound. She leaned back against the bench. "Don't give up, honey," she said. "You're both too strong for that."

"Yes, well…" Blaine said. "It's hard."

"If it wasn't hard, it wouldn't be worth it," she said. She hugged her arms around her stomach. "Look, I'll talk to him and see what's going on with him. But I'm not going to play peacemaker, okay? You're big boys. And you're boyfriends. You need to work out these things without Mommy stepping in to make sure you're playing fair."

"Yes, Mommy," Blaine said wryly.

"You go distract yourself with something else," she said. "Go…eat some spaghetti and watch Narnia, okay?"

"I guess," he sighed.

"All right. Go do it," she said. She sighed. "It's going to work out, Blaine."

"I hope so," he said. "I'll talk to you soon, okay? And…thank you."

"Any time," she said. "Bye, honey."

She hung up the phone, sighed, and hit Kurt's speed dial. It rang a few times before going to his voicemail; she left a message, making sure to keep her voice deceptively light and cheerful, and crossed her fingers that he'd call back.

It wasn't until she was at home in her room, frowning at the outline for her paper, that her phone rang. She picked it up and answered without checking the ID. "Hey, it's me," she said absently.

"Lu? Are you busy?"

She looked down at her paper. "Well, you and your boyfriend have a terrible propensity for interrupting my ten-page paper about feminism in modern theater, but other than that, I'm free to talk," she said. She turned her outline over. "How're you doing?"

"Terrible," Kurt said flatly.

"I've got time," she said.

He spilled everything without a second invitation. She sat back and listened thoughtfully to Kurt's side of the story- the chance encounter, the innocently fun text messages, Blaine's discovery. "And then he _sang _to me," he said, sounding horrified. "He sang a song about cheating. In front of everyone! And I didn't cheat! I've never cheated. Quinn cheated on Finn. Rachel cheated on Finn. Finn cheated on Rachel. Finn-"

"Finn needs better taste in women," Lucy remarked.

"I'm surrounded by cheaters, and I haven't done anything!" Kurt protested. "It's just texting. It's harmless."

"Harmless is relative," Lucy said. "What's innocent to you is breaking Blaine's heart."

"Oh, let me guess, he's already talked to you about it?" Kurt sneered. "He's painted me out to be some heartless villain, hasn't he?"

"I plead the fifth," Lucy sighed, leaning back against the pillows on her bed. "Right now, I don't care about what's going on with Blaine. I just want to know what's going on with you."

"I'm lonely," Kurt said bluntly. "I see my boyfriend every day and I'm lonely."

She frowned. "Why do you feel lonely?" she asked.

"It's like he's completely checked out," Kurt said. "He's so distant. We don't go out on dates other than meeting at the Lima Bean. He doesn't text me anymore unless it's absolutely necessary. When I try to talk about NYADA, he never says anything he just nods. Nods. Like he's a bobblehead." Kurt sucked in a deep shuddering breath. "We've hit a rut, and I'm just…I don't think we'll get out of it. I don't think we'll make it."

"Slow your roll, baby," Lucy said. "Take a deep breath."

He obeyed. "I like talking to Chandler," he said, his voice still sounding wobbly. "He makes me feel good about myself. He thinks I'm attractive."

"Blaine thinks you're attractive," Lucy said quietly.

"Yes, well, Blaine doesn't say anything about it," Kurt said bitterly. "Blaine won't even kiss me unless it's scheduled. I don't feel attractive. I feel…I feel like he just doesn't care anymore. Like he doesn't need me anymore." She could hear the tears beginning to edge into his voice. "And I don't want to lose him."

"Baby, don't cry," she whispered. He sniffled hard. "It's going to be okay, don't cry."

"No, you don't understand," Kurt cried. "I just talked to my dad, and I…oh, god, Lu, I don't want to grow up."

She blinked. "Okay, I'm…I'm confused," she said.

"No, he…we were talking, and he said that he doesn't want me to go," Kurt said. "He knows that I have to go to college and I have to go to New York, but he's going to miss me. And…for most of my life, all my dad and I ever had was each other." Kurt was crying in earnest now. "I'm losing my dad, and I'm losing Blaine."

She sat up. "Honey, honey, sh," she soothed. "Sh, you're not going to lose anybody. Stop crying."

"I c-can't," Kurt sobbed. "I haven't cried about any of this, and you _know _I'm a crier, and-"

"Kurt," she said firmly. "Stop crying. Do you think your dad is ever going to let you go?"

"…no."

"Your daddy would move heaven and earth for you," she said. "You might be a grown up and in college and living in the big city, but you're always going to be his precious little boy. You could go back home in a suit and tie with a wedding ring and a college diploma, and he's just going to see his baby."

Kurt laughed, the sound thick and wet. "He pretty much said the same thing," he said.

"See?" she smiled. "There you go. You're always going to be the apple of your dad's eye, no matter what changes."

Kurt sighed shakily. "But what about Blaine?" he said, sounding a little whiny.

"You need to talk to him," she said. "You're not on the same page. From the sounds of it, you haven't been for a while. Does he know that you feel like he's been distant?"

"Well…no."

"He's not going to read your mind, baby," she said. "You need to talk to him about how you've been feeling. And you need to listen to him. If he feels like you've cheated on him and betrayed him, you're just going to hurt him and make it worse if you brush it off. You need to take it seriously."

"How will I get him to sit down and talk to me, though?" Kurt said. "He won't even look at me."

"You know Blaine's not very good with words and things," Lucy said. "You've got to speak his language."

"But how can I…oh. Oh! I should sing!"

"There you go," she grinned. "Do you feel a little better now? Feel like you have a plan?"

"I do," he said, sighing deeply. "Thank you, Lu. I don't know what I would do without you."

"Panic and die, most likely," she said. "Okay, you need to keep me updated on this. Promise?"

"Promise," he said.

"I love you, baby. Make wise choices," she warned.

He laughed. "Love you too," he said.

She blew him a kiss through the receiver and hung up, heaving a heavy sigh. "Those boys are going to be the death of me," she said to herself.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****In case you were wondering, Lucy is basically me.

Right down to the paper about feminism in modern theatre.

I think I still have it somewhere.

I ought to be ashamed, shouldn't I? Oh, well. Too late for that.

Also, this is basically my frustrated response to the Whitney Houston episode with all the cheating and whatnot. That episode made me all wibbly, but the part that made me honestly cry was the conversation between Burt and Kurt when he just looked at him and said "sometimes I just want my sweet little boy back."

Like literally bawling with a blanket over my head. All the Hummel feels.

My husband thought it was adorable, but he made fun of me at the same time.


	177. Hatred

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Kurt?" Mollie called. Her heart skipped a beat as she shut the front door behind her. "Kurt, baby, I'm home." She set down her bag. "Where are you? Are you okay?"<p>

She flexed her fingers anxiously. Her mind had been racing since she'd gotten the text from her thirteen-year-old son just an hour ago- _soemthing happend pleas come home. _She didn't know what that meant. Was he hurt, or sick, or-

She looked into the living room and found her son huddled on the couch, his hair dark and wet from a recent shower. He stared blankly at the TV screen, blue eyes unfocused and his chin resting on his bent knees. His slim hands were wrapped around his ankles, his thumbs fiddling with the hem of his too-long jeans.

"Kurt, what's wrong?" she asked.

He looked up, the color draining from his face. "I sent another text, you didn't need to come home," he said, his voice small. "It's silly."

She sat down beside him on the couch, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him against her. "It's not silly," she said "You're upset. What's wrong?" She kissed his temple. "What happened?"

He swallowed hard. She kissed his forehead; he didn't feel hot, so he wasn't sick. His jeans were loose and he was wearing one of his father's baggy old tee shirts, so maybe he was hurt- but probably not. She smoothed her fingers through his hair and waited for him to explain.

"Some of the bigger guys," Kurt started. He swallowed again, tucking his cheek tighter against the soft slope between her shoulder and collarbone- his spot, he used to say when he was a just a little thing. "Some of the football guys…they were throwing water balloons at me. When I was leaving school."

Her heart sank. She would prefer to have him sick or injured to this.

"It wasn't water, though," he whispered.

Her hand tightened against his upper arm. She hastily relaxed her fingers and kissed the top of his head, trying to reassure him.

"They peed in them," Kurt said in a tiny voice. "They peed in them, and they threw them at me, and…and I had to walk home like that, and it _smelled, _and I took a shower for like an hour and I _still _don't feel clean."

He burst into tears then, tears he'd obviously been holding back for a long time while he waited for her to come home, and Mollie seized him tightly, pulling him onto her lap. "Oh, baby," she whispered. "Oh, my baby, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

Kurt sobbed into his hands without making much sound, just ragged gasps that made his whole body shudder. Mollie rocked him gently like she had when he was just a fretful baby waking up from a nightmare. It didn't matter that he was thirteen years old, he was her little son and _someone had hurt him._

"I'm so sorry," she kept repeating, rubbing his back. "It'll be okay. Sh. Sh, honey, don't cry. Sh, sh, sh."

He cried into her shoulder with all the painful exhaustion of a broken spirit, and she held him so tightly her arms began to prickle, her chest burning with sudden spiteful hatred at the boys who had dared to hurt her child.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Fear the wrath of mamabear!Mollie.

Oh, man. I would've loved to see her take on Karofsky. She would've shrunk him to about two inches tall in three sentences.


	178. Thoughtful

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine knotted his fingers together behind his back and surveyed the Hummel living room anxiously. It was his first time picking Kurt up from his house for a date, and by God, everything had to be perfect or he would die. He'd already navigated Burt (who glared at him through a brief conversation before stomping out to the garage) and Carole (who'd apologized for her husband's more-than-a-little overprotective behavior and offered to get him a drink while he waited for Kurt to get ready, but still eyed him suspiciously), and now he was stuck waiting awkwardly in the living room.<p>

"I'm sorry, Blaine, it'll really only take another second!" Kurt hollered from upstairs.

"It's fine, don't worry," Blaine called back. He rocked up on his toes. When it came to a Kurt Hummel hair emergency, "a second" could mean anything from "another ten minutes while I attack my hair with a straightener and pomade" all the way up to "hang on, let me wash my hair and start over."

Finn ambled through the living room, a sandwich in hand. "Hey, dude," he said. "You came to get Kurt?"

"Yeah," Blaine said, flexing his fingers anxiously. "First big date."

"Scared of Burt?"

"Definitely," Blaine admitted.

"Don't worry, he's cool," Finn said, grinning. "You make Kurt happy and that makes Burt happy. He's just really overprotective, that's all. Kurt's his only kid and he's kind of spoiled him after his mom died." He pointed to the montage of pictures over the mantel. "He looks just like his mom, right?"

Blaine looked carefully at the photograph. "He does," he said softly. "She was beautiful."

"You should ask him about her," Finn said. "But…you just have to be careful. Sometimes he gets a little touchy about it. He still misses her a whole lot."

Blaine nodded, filing the thought away.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Just a short and sweet little thoughtful moment for the day.


	179. Drowning

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Stop it!" Kurt laughed, wriggling in Blaine's grip. "Stop it! Let me go!"<p>

Blaine grinned as he dragged Kurt towards the pool, arms wrapped tightly around Kurt's waist and pinning his arms to his sides. "Aha! No one shall save you now!" he teased.

"Oh, come on, Finn will rescue me," Kurt said, kicking playfully at Blaine's shin.

"Ah, but he and Francey are both inside," Blaine said. "You're getting your hair wet whether you like it or not."

"No, it looks so nice today!" Kurt whined.

Blaine laughed and pulled Kurt up to the edge. "You promised to go swimming!" he said. "That means you have to get in water, so here you go!"

He leaped into the pool, dragging Kurt down into the pool. Water flooded over his head; he let go of Kurt as his feet touched the bottom of the pool and propelled himself up.

He broke the surface, laughing and spluttering. "Okay, look, now we both got our hair wet," he said, shaking his dripping curls. He rubbed the water from his eyes and looked around. "Kurt?"

He didn't see Kurt.

Panic spiked in his chest. "Kurt, this isn't funny," he called. He treaded water, looking around for his boyfriend to resurface. "Kurt, stop it!"

He turned around and saw a dark shape at the bottom of the deep end.

"Kurt!" he screamed, and he dove deep, breaking the surface of the water. Kurt's slender body sprawled out on the slick concrete floor, suspended in the pale blue water. Blaine grabbed onto him, hoisting his limp body up and struggling towards the surface.

He broke free and stretched to reach the side of the pool. His fingers slipped; he struggled to hold on. "Francey!" he screamed, trying desperately to keep Kurt's head above the water. "Finn!"

He could see the back door of his house, the glass open and the screen pulled tight, and his heart stopped beating. They couldn't hear him.

He hoisted Kurt up, trying to wrestle his limp heavy weight onto the cement edge of the pool. Somewhere in the back of his brain he knew he was still screaming, praying for someone to hear him. Kurt crumpled on the ground, soaking wet and sprawled out in the hot summer sunshine. His mouth gaped open, but he wasn't breathing.

Blaine pulled himself onto the lip of the pool and stumbled to Kurt's side, pressing his hands to Kurt's chest, his stomach, his neck, willing a pulse to beat and air to flow. Hot blood trickled down his cold forehead, mingling in the wet darkness of his hair. "Come on, baby, please, just breathe," Blaine sobbed, rubbing Kurt's still chest. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Firm warm hands closed over his shoulders and dragged him away, pulling him to his feet. "What happened?" Francey demanded, kneeling beside Kurt.

"It was an accident," Blaine sobbed. Finn held onto him tight, his chest pressed to Blaine's back, arms around his shoulders. "He just…he hit the bottom of the pool, and he's not breathing, and…Francey, he's not, he's not breathing, he's-"

Francey tilted Kurt's chin and leaned over him, her cheek close to his mouth and her eyes trained on his chest. "He's breathing," she said, sounding angry. "Stop crying, Blaine. You're not helping anyone by crying."

He hadn't even realized he was crying, hot tears running down his cheeks and dripping down his chin like a hysterical child. Finn's grip was so tight it nearly hurt. "He's going to be okay, right?" Finn demanded.

Francey ignored him, pressing her hand against the bleeding gash on Kurt's temple. Kurt's long lashes fluttered against his snow white cheeks, and a broken sob escaped Blaine's throat. "Hey, hey, there you are," Francey said, her voice soft and calm. "Hey, Kurt. Just lie still, okay, baby?"

Kurt's chest heaved as he coughed up water and it spilled from his slack lips, his wide eyes blinking rapidly. Blaine could see him taking inventory, fast and dizzy and disoriented- _wet cold can't breathe head hurts what happened?_- and suddenly Kurt began to cry, high-pitched and panicked.

Finn let go of Blaine, shoving him aside, and knelt down beside Kurt. "It's me, it's me," he said, louder than he probably intended. He grabbed Kurt's hands, lacing his fingers through his. "It's okay. You fell in the pool and you hit your head. You were out for a minute but you're okay. You hear me? You're okay."

Finn sounded like a coach, sharp and commanding; it was a speech that belonged on a football field, given to a downed player after a bad hit. But Finn held his brother's hands tightly in his, rubbing his thumbs over his shaking fingers. "You hear me?" Finn said again, insistent, and Blaine heard Kurt's faint "uh-huh" in reply.

Francey raked her fingers through Kurt's wet hair, lifting it away from the still-bleeding cut. Her palms came away red. "I think you need a few stitches," she said. "It's not big, but it's deep. We need to take you to the emergency room, okay? Just lie still and breathe. Everything's going to be all right."

Kurt's white lips moved, but sound could barely come up. "Bl…Bl…" he murmured, his tongue thick and heavy. "Bl…_Blaine_."

And suddenly Blaine was collapsing beside him, grabbing his hands as Finn let go. "I'm right here, baby, I'm right here," he said, gathering up Kurt's hands in his and pressing kisses to his slender fingers that suddenly felt frail and paper-light in his grasp. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It's my fault. I'm sorry…"

Kurt mouthed something, unable to speak, but he tugged weakly at their clasped hands until Blaine leaned closer. He kissed Kurt's forehead, feeling the warmth beginning to return to his icy skin. Kurt pulled him down further until Blaine's head was resting against his chest, his ear to his heart. Blaine closed his eyes and listened to the steady _th-thump, th-thump, th-thump, _and he held Kurt's hand as tight as he could because he couldn't bear to say _I won't let you go_ aloud.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****HERE LET'S START YOUR DAY OFF WITH SOME ANGST, SHALL WE?

At least this ends happily.

Unlike the latest cliffhanger of Poison and Wine (the stripper!Kurt story).

And if you thought that cliffhanger was bad...the next one is going to be worse...


	180. Lurty Cuddles

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Finn tiptoed into the dark house and set his keys carefully on the counter. His parents were in Washington, but that didn't mean that Kurt wouldn't rat him out for staying out three hours past his usual curfew.<p>

Then again, he was pretty sure that the PT Cruiser parked on the street outside their house belonged to Kurt's friend Lucy, and he was also pretty sure that Kurt had been told no sleepovers, so that made them even.

He eased up the stairs. Light still flickered under Kurt's door, and he could hear the sounds of a movie playing- rather loudly, actually. He winced.

"Kurt, hey," he said, easing the door open. "Can you-"

His voice trailed off. Kurt was fast asleep, his cheek pressed into Lucy's shoulder. Lucy's vibrant red hair spilled across the pillow. One hand was tangled lightly in Kurt's soft hair, and they both breathed deep and slow. Kurt's NYADA rejection letter was crumpled on the nightstand; the foot of the bed was strewn with college brochures, job applications, and internship interview packets.

Finn switched off the movie and reached over to pull the blankets up to Kurt's shoulders. Neither of them roused. He paused long enough to brush a light kiss on his younger stepbrother's cheek- his skin was warm, like he'd been crying. He gave Lucy's shoulder a gentle little squeeze, and he silently let himself out of the room, turning off the light and closing the door as he backed into the hall.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Because everything is better with Lurty cuddles, and also because she would've been the best person to comfort him after NYADA tanked.

THAT IS, IF SHE WAS CANON.

Ryan Murphy does not drive me to drink. He drives me to rewrite all the things.

Although a drink would be nice. I like margaritas. Someone fax me a margarita.

I don't know what I'm talking about. Carry on.


	181. Sleepwalking in Snow

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt's heart stopped beating. The front door of the house was wide open.<p>

He stepped into the house and dropped his car keys on the floor. "Kurt?" he shouted. "Kurt, where are you?"

He hoped fervently for Kurt to appear so he could chew him out for being so stupid as to leave the door open like that when it was so late and he was home alone. But his ten-year-old son didn't materialize.

"Kurt!" he bellowed, running down the basement stairs. "Kurt Elijah Hummel, you get your ass out here!"

The basement bedroom was empty. The sheets were rumpled at the foot of the bed. His son was gone.

"Kurt!" he screamed. He ran back up the stairs, jumping them two at a time. "Kurt!"

He ran outside, staring into the snow-covered yard. It was dark and the snow still fell thickly, but he could see faint impressions of footsteps. One set. Either Kurt had walked away on his own- in twenty-degree January weather at eleven o'clock at night- or whoever had taken him had carried him out.

Burt ran down the icy sidewalk, following the footprints, already fumbling in his pocket for his cell phone. "Kurt!" he called. His voice echoed down the quiet street. No one answered him.

He kept running, his chest beginning to ache. His work shoes skidded on the iced-over concrete as he rounded the corner. The road was covered in snow and criss-crossed in tire tracks- but he could see footprints weaving unsteadily across the street.

Burt followed them towards the park on the corner. It wasn't really much of a park- a small playscape, a metal swingset, a broken-down picnic table. But all Burt cared about was the tiny figure sitting on the swing, his head hanging down.

"Kurt?" he called. "Kurt Hummel!"

His little boy sat on the swing, barefoot and dressed in thin pajamas. Snow dusted his hair liberally. Burt grabbed him by the shoulders. "Kurt, what the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

Kurt didn't react. His eyes were half-open, but he didn't seem to realize that his father stood in front of him. Burt gave him another firm shake. "Kurt! Answer me!" he said, his fear coming out as an angry shout.

Kurt sighed softly, and Burt realized with a start that he was asleep.

"Oh, god, you're sleepwalking again," he murmured. He uncurled Kurt's fingers from around the chains of the swing and draped his son's thin arms around his neck. "Come on. Come on, little boy."

He slid his other arm under Kurt's knees and scooped him up. Kurt shivered against him, stiff and half-frozen. Burt tucked his coat around him. "Let's go home," he murmured, pressing his hand against his little boy's cold hair to lean him close against his shoulder. "You're safe. You'll be safe."

He carried Kurt down the street to their house, this time slow and cautious, careful to keep from slipping on the ice. Kurt didn't seem to weigh anything. Maybe he was just so relieved to find him safe that he didn't notice anything but that.

He carried Kurt into the house and nudged the door shut with his shoulder. Kurt shivered violently as soon as they reached the warmth of the living room, and Burt hugged him tighter. "It's okay, it's okay," he said, rubbing his upper arm. "I'll get you warmed up, kiddo. It's okay."

He carried Kurt upstairs to the master bedroom and laid him down on the bed. Melting snow dripped from the child's hair and clothes; his skin had faded into blotchy blues and whites. Burt went into the bathroom and started filling up the tub with warm water. His heart thudded against his ribs anxiously.

He went back into the bedroom to find Kurt blinking slowly at the ceiling. "Kurt?" he said. He sat down on the edge of the bed and squeezed his icy bare ankle. "How're you feeling, kiddo? Are you okay?"

"Cold," Kurt whispered hoarsely.

"I bet you are," Burt said. "A warm bath and some hot chocolate and you'll be fine."

Kurt shivered, his teeth chattering. "Why'm I cold, Daddy?" he mumbled.

Burt rubbed his little bare feet, trying to draw some warmth back into his frozen toes. "You were sleepwalking, scooter," he said. "You made it all the way out to the park before I found you." Kurt blinked slowly, trying to process the information, and when it finally dawned on him what had happened his lips began to tremble. "Hey, hey, none of that. Come on. Can you get up?"

He helped Kurt up without waiting for an answer; his son's legs shook like a newborn colt's. "Why'd I go outside?" Kurt murmured through blue chapped lips.

"You were sleepwalking, you didn't know what you were doing," Burt said. He picked Kurt up the way he used to when he was very small, setting him on his hip, and carried him into the bathroom. "But you were walking around with no shoes, no coat, and it's twenty degrees and snowing."

Kurt's chin wobbled, his lips pressed together tightly. Burt kissed his temple and set him on his feet. "I know you didn't mean to do it," he said hastily. "I know. Just take a bath and get warmed up, okay?"

Kurt nodded slightly, his chin jutting out in that stubborn way that made him look eerily like his mother, and wriggled out of his pajama shirt. Burt closed the bathroom door and headed down the stairs. His chest still felt tight after the night's scare. What if Kurt had gotten farther away than the park? What if he had gone looking for him in the opposite direction? What if he hadn't gotten there in time?

He slammed a saucepan on the stove and dumped in a generous amount of milk. Mollie used to make warm milk for Kurt when he was upset, at just the right temperature with a little dash of vanilla bean, but he could never quite get it right. He'd tried a couple of times after she died to make it for him, on the days that Kurt came home pale and quiet or the nights he woke up crying, and the only thing worse than the child's look of disappointment when it didn't taste just right was watching Kurt try to carefully keep his expression neutral.

So hot chocolate it was.

Burt mixed up the hot chocolate and poured it into a large mug. It had taken long enough that by the time he went back upstairs with the cup in hand, the tension had drained away from his shoulders and he just felt tired without the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Kurt was fine. He was okay. He hadn't frozen to death. No one had stolen him. He was going to be okay.

He set the mug down on the dresser and tapped lightly on the door. "Kurt?" he said. "How're you doing?"

"Mmkay."

"I've got some hot chocolate for you."

The door creaked open and Kurt peeked out. His cheeks were pink and rosy and his hair was damp and ruffled. "Thank you," he said meekly.

Burt steered him over to the bed. "Sit down and drink it," he ordered, pressing the mug into his son's hands. "You feeling okay? Warm enough?"

Kurt nodded and took a tentative sip of the hot chocolate. Burt kicked off his shoes and settled in beside him. "Want to watch anything?" he asked. Kurt shrugged, his pajama shirt sliding around on his narrow shoulders. Burt pulled the neckline back up and switched on the television, flipping around until he landed on a rerun of an old sitcom.

He draped an arm around Kurt's shoulders, rubbing his thumb against his arm. "Feel a little better?" he asked.

"I can go sleep in my own room," Kurt said softly.

Burt pulled him against his side. "Nope," he said. "I want you to sleep here tonight, okay?"

He expected a fight from his stubborn son, but Kurt just sidled closer and nodded, his cheek pressed against Burt's chest. Burt patted his back thoughtfully.

Twenty minutes later Kurt was fast asleep, his chocolate-smeared lips slightly parted and the empty mug slipping from his fingers. Burt pried it away and set it on the nightstand, then carefully leaned Kurt back against the pillows on Mollie's side of the bed. He touched the back of his hand to Kurt's forehead- he felt slightly feverish. That was all right. He wasn't going to let Kurt go to school the next day anyway, fever or no.

Kurt sighed softly, his chest sinking as he burrowed under the layers of blankets. Burt bent and kissed him on the cheek.

His baby was safe. That was all he cared about.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

ALL THE HUMMEL MEN FEELS.

Ugh, poor Burt, thinking he almost lost his little boy. If something happened to Kurt, I don't think the man would have survived, not with losing his wife and his baby.

You know what still gets me every time? The first season episode Laryngitis, when Kurt goes "butch trucker" for a week and then he sings "Rose's Turn" and he and Burt talk and it's all emotional and whatnot? It's the moment when Burt just looks at him and says "come here" and pulls him into a hug and cuddles him. It kills me every single time.

Honestly, though, that's one of my favorite episodes. Kurt is such a darling cutie and he breaks my heart at the same time. And the scene where he's making out with Brittany cracks me up every time. "Um, excuse me, Dad, we were having sexual relations..."

Anyways.

(If you haven't figured it out by now, I tend to get super scatterbrained in my author's notes.)

I wrote this because I mentioned in a previous sleepwalking drabble that Kurt had once walked all the way down the street to the park, and someone wanted to know what had happened. Ergo, I wrote this! And because angst is like oxygen, I decided to make it freezing and snowy. Yay!...aw.

You know, I don't think I've written much about Carole and Finn dealing with Kurt's sleepwalking. I've mentioned it, but either I've written it in a funny context (like Kurt sleepwalking during Nationals and mumbling about Bruce Wayne in his sleep) or Burt's been there to handle it. I wonder what it would be like if he was sleepwalking and they were the only ones there to take care of him. Oh, god, what if he stayed with them while Burt was in the hospital and he started sleepwalking in an unfamiliar house...

(Also, on an only-slightly related note, this drabble is subtitled "In Which Kurt Scares the Shit Out of His Father." Which I feel is a recurring theme throughout Kurt's childhood.)


	182. Broken Leg

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"You're sure you're okay?" Finn said as he reached to unbuckle his seatbelt.<p>

"Finn, for the last time, I'm fine," Kurt sighed. "I have a broken leg, not the plague."

"Yeah, but Dad said he didn't want you to go back to school until next week," Finn countered.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Dad's in DC and what he doesn't know won't hurt him," he said. "Now hand me my crutches."

Finn picked up his backpack and slammed the driver's side door. "Can you even get out of the car on your own?" he asked.

"I can if you hand me my- _Finn!"_

Finn scooped his younger stepbrother out of the backseat and set him down carefully. "Don't put any weight on your foot," he warned as he fumbled around for the crutches.

"I won't, I won't," Kurt said, leaning on the car. "Ugh. I really hate this."

"Yeah, I know," Finn said sympathetically. "Hurts like crap, right?"

"Well, that and I'm forced to either wear sweatpants for the next six weeks, or cut off one leg of every pair of decent pants I own," Kurt sighed, frowning at the navy blue cast on his right leg. "This sucks."

"What sucks?" Blaine asked, sticking his head around the side of the car. "You coming to school when your father said you couldn't?"

"Blaine, not you too," Kurt huffed.

Blaine kissed him softly and picked up his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder next to his own satchel. "You were told to stay home and keep resting," he reminded Kurt.

"I was going crazy sitting around at home," Kurt said, his mouth drawing down into a pout. "Dad's just overprotective. I can go to school."

"I believe your father's exact words were 'over my dead body'," Blaine said.

"They were, they were, I was there," Finn added.

Kurt rolled his eyes and took a swinging step on his crutches. "I'll be fine," he said. "It's not that bad."

"You broke your leg in two places," Blaine said.

"I'll be fine," Kurt said, limping towards the school. "And if either even think of calling my dad, I will hit you with my crutches."

Finn and Blaine exchanged a look and silently slid their phones back in their pockets. "What do we do?" Finn whispered in Blaine's ear.

"He's so stubborn," Blaine sighed. "I guess all we can do is wait for him to decide for himself that he wants to go home."

"And make sure he doesn't hurt himself worse in the process," Finn added.

"That too."

Kurt paused at the front steps of the school. "Um, who wants to open the door for me?" he called.

Blaine smiled and jogged up to meet him. The short crutch-assisted walk had left Kurt pink-cheeked and slightly out of breath. "Let me," he said, opening the door. "I'll even go to your locker with you."

"Well, aren't you just a charming gentleman?" Kurt cooed, nuzzling the tip of his nose against Blaine's.

"Excuse me, just let me go barf…" Finn said, half-teasing. A basketball player pushed past them, nearly throwing Kurt off balance. "Hey! Watch it!"

"Finn, it's okay," Kurt said.

Finn scowled. "No, no it's not," he said. "You broke your leg because of stupid people at this school. They're not going to care if you're hobbling around everywhere."

"You could always go home and rest…" Blaine said, his voice trailing off hopefully.

Kurt poked him lightly in the chest. "Not going to work," he said. "Now walk me to homeroom, please."

"Oh, may I?" Blaine teased. He put his hand on the small of Kurt's back. "Go on, I'll follow with your bag."

The two of them managed to get Kurt through his first three classes, but each time it took him longer and longer to hobble from one classroom to the other. His face grew paler, and more than a few times they caught him wincing when he accidentally forgot and put his weight on his bad leg. Blaine sat even closer to him during French class, watching anxiously as his boyfriend's lips tightened from pain.

The bell rang and Blaine reached over to gather up Kurt's bag. "Ready for your next class?" he asked.

Kurt rubbed his temples. "Actually, I was thinking that…um…"

Blaine squeezed his hand. "Would you like to go home?" he asked gently.

"Uh-huh," Kurt nodded.

Finn dodged a student leaving the classroom and stuck his head in the door. "Hey, Kurt, do you-" He paused, his eyes brightening. "Did he decide to-"

"He wants to go home," Blaine said. "Thank goodness."

"Woohoo!" Finn said cheerfully, rummaging through the front pocket of his backpack. He pulled out an orange bottle of pills and wrestled the top off. "I figured you'd need these. Here, take one. You have any water? Never mind, I brought some."

"I can't believe you brought my painkillers," Kurt grumbled, but he took the pill willingly and took a sip from the water bottle.

Finn just grinned. "Blaine, you take him to the car," he said. "I'll go to the office and sign him out."

"I'm on it," Blaine said. He tucked his hands under Kurt's forearms and helped him to his feet. Kurt's knees buckled and Blaine grabbed onto him tightly. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Not so fast, sweetheart."

Kurt looked towards the door, watching Finn disappear down the hall, and bit his lip. "It was really stupid of me to try to go back to school already, wasn't it?" he said in a small voice.

Blaine kissed his forehead gently. "I'll wait until you're out of your cast to say 'I told you so'," he said. He picked up Kurt's books and slid his arm around his waist. "Come on. Let's get you home."

"Thank you," Kurt said. He yawned hugely, his eyes squinching shut. "Ugh, I'm so tired all of a sudden."

"Isn't drowsiness a side effect of your painkillers?" Blaine asked innocently.

"I hate you," Kurt said, rubbing his eyes.

Blaine hid a smile as he walked with him down the hall. Kurt limped along on his crutches, slow and arduous. Blaine rubbed the small of his back gently, moving his thumb in soothing circles.

Finn was waiting for them at the front door. "What took you so-" he started to ask, but he stopped and cleared his throat instead. "Kurt? You doing okay?"

Kurt paused to catch his breath, his shoulders slumping. "'m so tired," he murmured. "And it hurts."

Finn gently pried the crutches away and handed them to Blaine, supporting his brother's weight. He guided Kurt's arms around his neck, tucked his arms under his knees, and lifted him up, careful with his broken leg. Kurt buried his face in the crook of his older brother's neck, rubbing his cheek against his shoulder. "Thanks, Finn," he murmured in relief.

Blaine opened the door and followed them out to the Navigator. Finn helped Kurt into the backseat and Blaine climbed in beside him, anxiously scanning Kurt's face for signs of pain. He just looked tired, but Blaine didn't want to take any chances. He still had nightmares about Kurt breaking his leg- the way he was shoved across the hallway, the sickening crack as the bones in his shin shattered, his boyfriend's half-strangled cry of pain and shock. He had held Kurt in his lap until the ambulance came, letting Kurt cry into his chest and hide from the gawking passers-by, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to keep from looking at Kurt's mangled leg.

Finn pulled into the driveway of the Hudson-Hummel house and glanced back. "We're home," he said. "He awake?"

Blaine looked down. "He's out," he reported, smiling a little as he brushed Kurt's hair away from his forehead. Kurt slept with his cheek smooshed into Blaine's shoulder, his mouth agape as he snored slightly.

"I'll carry him inside if you'll get him into his bed," Finn said. He unbuckled Kurt's seatbelt and paused. "That sounded dirty, didn't it?"

"Just a little," Blaine snickered.

Kurt half-roused, blinking sleepily at his surroundings in confusion. "I wanna…I wanna go home," he mumbled.

"You're home, baby," Blaine soothed, rubbing his cheek.

"Wanna…go t'sleep," Kurt yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You can sleep," Finn said. He lifted Kurt out of the car. "And you're not going to school for a while, okay?"

"Mmkay," Kurt said sleepily, dropping his head on Finn's shoulder like a drowsy child. He held out his hand, opening and closing his fingers, and Blaine took it in his own. He gave Kurt's hand a gentle squeeze and was rewarded with one last sleepy smile before his boyfriend fell asleep with his head on his brother's shoulder.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****ALL THE SLEEPY KURT CUDDLES.

HE'S LIKE A KITTEN.

I WANT A KURT KITTEN.

SOMEONE SEND ME A BABY KURT KITTEN.


	183. Chats

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Blaine, are you going to loiter around the mailbox like a creeper or are you going come in?"<p>

Blaine started, his elbow slipping and hitting the horn of his Jeep. It bleated loudly and Mollie snickered. "That's not funny," he protested.

"Oh, yes it was," she said. She drummed her fingers lightly on the car door. "Coming inside?"

He sighed. "Yes, please."

He followed his boyfriend's mother up the front walk and into the house. "Did you really drive all the way over here just to gaze longingly at Kurt's house?" Mollie asked, holding the door open for him.

"Well, rehearsal ran late, and it was on my way home, and…it's weird, right?" he mumbled.

Mollie guided him gently into the warm, homey kitchen and made him sit down at the table. "Only a little," she said, smiling. "Here. I thought you might like this." She pressed a warm mug of milk into Blaine's hands and sat down across from him. "Are you doing all right, sweetheart?"

"I'm fine," he said, taking a sip of milk. She had sweetened it a little with honey and vanilla- the same way Kurt made it. "Senior year's going great. Glee club's going well. My midterms weren't too bad…"

"No, no, not school," Mollie chided gently. "How are _you_?"

He sighed. "Okay, I guess," he said.

She smiled, her blue eyes crinkling a little in the corners, just like her son's. "You guess?"

"My dad's been out of the country on business pretty much all month," Blaine said. "My mom is…I don't even know. Busy. And Francey's applying for medical school now that her undergrad is almost done."

"Closer, but not quite," Mollie said. She reached over and smoothed an errant curl away from his forehead in an unconscious, motherly gesture. "How are you doing? You yourself. Zachary Blaine."

He rubbed his temple. "Lonely," he confessed. "It's…it's not the same without him here. I thought…I mean, McKinley's all right, but I went there because I wanted to be with him. Now I feel like…I don't belong at McKinley, but I don't belong at Dalton anymore either."

"Between a rock and a hard place," she said. She reached over and squeezed his hand. "You know you're welcome here any time, right?" He nodded. She smiled, squeezing his fingers tighter. "Especially on Friday nights."

He smiled back at her, but his lips were a little wobbly. Mollie patted his hand. "I miss him too," she said softly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Just a little future-in-law bonding.

Ugh, I wish Mollie was still alive. She would've loved Blaine. And Blaine would've loved her. Mollie probably would have ended up as a surrogate mama to the entire glee club. She would have been that mom that offers to be a chaperone and brings them food when they have late rehearsals and offered the Hummel house up for parties. And I think she would have taken Quinn under her mama hen wing, seeing as how she knows exactly what it's like to be an unwed teenage mother at McKinley.

Ukjdfldsjklfjdsklflds. MOLLIE Y U DIE?

Curse you, Ryan Murphy. You drive me to write all the things.


	184. Blaine Catches Kurt Sleepwalking

Blaine started awake as something thick and fuzzy flew into his face. "Oh god! Oh god! Get off me! I-"

He paused and pulled the sweater off his head, sighing deeply. "Oh god, why's there a sweater on my head?" he mumbled thickly. He dragged his hand through his hair and over his face, then glanced blearily at the clock. "Why's there a sweater on my head at two in the morning?"

A striped button up shirt sailed through the air and floated over his hair. Blaine pulled it off and dropped it beside the sweater before leaning over to switch on the bedside lamp.

The soft glow illuminated the tiny bedroom, and he smiled sleepily to himself as he saw his boyfriend shamble out of the closet like a zombie and make his way down the hall. He kicked off the sheets and pulled himself out of bed. "Kurt," he called softly as he padded down the hall behind him. "Kurt, sweetie, come back to bed."

"Mmprgh," Kurt retorted. "Mrgha…rada…toast."

Kurt opened up the breadbox on the counter, took out a slice of bread, and dropped it in the sink. Blaine hastily picked it up and threw it away. "Kurt, it's not time for breakfast," he said, barely hiding the laugh in his voice. "Let's go back to bed."

"Toast," Kurt repeated. "And…applesauce."

"You can have toast and applesauce in the morning," Blaine said. Kurt knuckled his eyes like a sleepy child. "Come on, baby, go back to sleep."

"Imma…sleep," Kurt murmured, scratching the back of his head and ruffling up his already untidy bedhead. His oversized tee shirt- "borrowed" from Finn- swallowed him up and hung nearly as long as his boxers. "Blaine?"

"Yes, honey, it's Blaine," he cooed. He took Kurt by the hand. "Do you want to go back to sleep?"

Kurt yawned, noisy and noncommittal, and Blaine scooped him before he could protest further. He stroked the small of Kurt's bare back as his boyfriend nestled against his chest. Sleepwalking wasn't much of a surprise- finals were coming up, and Kurt always started his nocturnal wanderings when he was stressed out. At least he hadn't tried to paint the living room again.

Kurt rubbed his cheek against the broad plane of Blaine's shoulder as he set him down carefully on the bed. "There," he crooned, tucking the blankets around his boyfriend and kissing him on the forehead. "Go to sleep. I love you, Kurt."

Kurt rolled over onto his stomach and burrowed face-first into his pillow, his arms curled into his chest. "Hm…jello…" he murmured, and Blaine had to swallow a laugh as he bent to kiss the warm sweet-smelling spot at the nape of Kurt's neck.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Wow, a lot of sleepwalking drabbles lately. And I just wrote a new one. Apparently this is a popular theme!

But in any case, enjoy some adorable sleepy Klaine snuggles.

And also, I've given Kurt one of my quirks- he rubs his face when he's sleepy. When I get tired, I start rubbing my eyes, sometimes up to five minutes at a stretch, without even realizing what I'm doing. And if I'm super, super tired, I rub my face on other things, such as my husband's shoulder or the cat. Or the couch.

So yeah. Adorable Kurt face-rubbing.


	185. Kurt Will Never Be an Olympian

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Oh lord," Burt said.<p>

"Mm-hm," Mollie nodded grimly.

The two of them watched their small son zigzag across the soccer field in joyous abandon. He was the tiniest member of the team; his neon green jersey with HUMMEL emblazoned in black across his shoulders was at least two sizes too big.

"He's trying so hard," Burt offered.

"Mm-hm," Mollie said.

Kurt darted down the field, dodging the older, bigger players. He tried to kick the ball, but his cleats slipped out from under him and he fell on the muddy ground with a tremendous splash.

"He's _terrible_," Burt blurted out.

"He's awful," Mollie said. Her arms were folded across her chest, her lips thinned. "And if he catches a cold from running around out here when it's so wet and muddy…"

"But I don't understand," Burt said blankly. "He loves soccer. He's told me that at least once a day since we signed him up. He's always running around in the backyard, chasing down that ball."

"He only likes it because he thinks you like it," Mollie said quietly.

A knot formed in the pit of Burt's stomach. "But he…I thought…"

"He just wants to make his daddy proud of him."

Burt swallowed uncomfortably. "I am proud of him," he said.

Mollie picked at the cuffs of her coat. "You don't show it very often," she said. Her eyes were still trained on the little figure in neon green. "You pat him on the head, tell him he's a good kid. When he started playing soccer…you wanted to play with him in the backyard. You wanted to take him shopping for new cleats. You wanted to put his team picture up in your office."

Burt's blood ran cold. "Mollie, I-"

She turned to face him, her lovely sea-blue eyes gray and frosted. "Are you always going to be proud of your son, no matter what he does, or are you only going to be proud of him when he does what you want him to do?" Mollie said.

Burt fell silent.

They watched the game without talking, except for Mollie's occasional encouraging call when Kurt lagged behind or fell. Burt's chest ached at the determination in his little boy's face- jaw set, eyes narrowed, mouth tugged in a crooked frown. He looked just like his mother.

The ref signaled the end of the game and the other team started shrieking in delight. The troop of children in neon green slumped back to the stands, heads hanging low. Kurt ran up the metal bleachers to his parents, his cleats sliding on the stands. "Mommy! Daddy!" he called, huffing and puffing.

"Hey, scooter, careful," Burt said, catching Kurt's thin little arm before he slipped. His cheeks were flushed rosy red, but his skin felt icy cold, and his clothes and hair were streaked with damp mud from falling so many times.

"Did you see me, Daddy? Did you see me?" Kurt said. "Did you?"

"Daddy watched every second of your game, precious," Mollie assured him. She picked up an old fleece blanket from her bag and wrapped it around Kurt. "Baby, you're freezing. Are you okay?"

"I'm wet and kinda muddy," Kurt informed her. "Can I take a bath?"

She kissed the tip of his nose. "Of course, KK," she said.

"But I did good, right, Mommy?" Kurt pressed. "I was really good?"

"You did your very best," she said, smiling at him as she rubbed warmth back into his arms.

Kurt swiveled around to face Burt. "But Daddy, you're proud of me, right?" he begged. "I did good?"

He looked so anxious- too anxious for a little boy who wouldn't be five for another week. Mollie drew the blanket tighter around him as he shivered, and Burt's heart melted. "Baby, I'm always proud of you," he said, gathering Kurt into his arms. "You could paint yourself blue and I'd still be proud of you."

Kurt nestled his damp little head against Burt's shoulder and cuddled into his chest. "But I don't want to paint myself blue, Daddy," he said, perplexed. He reached up to latch onto Burt's collar, an old habit of his from babyhood. "Daddy, can we go home? I'm really muddy."

Burt kissed Kurt's small hand, his little fingers still twined in the collar of his shirt. "Yeah, we can go home," he said. He scooped Kurt up and set him on his hip. "Mommy can give you a bath, and we can eat dinner in the living room while we watch a movie. How does that sound?"

"I like that," Kurt said, his voice muffled as he rubbed his cheek against Burt's shoulder. He hugged his little boy tightly, watching the parents of Kurt's teammates console their miserable children with pats on the back and hugs, some of them clearly just as upset as their kids over the loss, and it slowly dawned on Burt that not only did Kurt not care about losing, but neither did he. Kurt just wanted to make him proud. And he just wanted his kid to be happy.

Kurt yawned hugely as Burt carried him over to the car, burying himself deeper in his fleecy blanket cocoon. "I think somebody's going to bed early tonight," Mollie said, patting Kurt's back. She smiled at Burt over Kurt's head, and he grinned back at her.

"Not me," Kurt yawned, still nuzzling his daddy's shoulder.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I love writing scenes between Burt and baby Kurt. It's adorable and snuggly, and I really like writing scenes set in the past, because I feel like it sets the foundation for the future. Like...if Kurt was already trying to win his father's pride and approval when he was only five, then of course he's going to conform himself to whatever he thinks his dad wants when he's fifteen and feels like he's being replaced.

That, and I feel like Mollie was very fiercely protective of Kurt. I mean, five is too little to really put a lot of emphasis on one's sexuality, but I'm sure she had already played out several possible scenarios in her head. And while she loved her baby and already knew she would accept him no matter what, I feel like she would have made Burt think about it, because it was going to take longer to get him in the right place.

And five-year-old Kurt is just precious and cuddly and lovable. And also kind of runs like a duckling. (Did anyone else notice that in the Never Been Kissed episode? Once I'd seen it three or four times and I kind of got over the shock, I started laughing at an inopportune moment because when he goes chasing after Karofsky, he has the cutest awkward-duckling run and I just want to give him a hug.)

ALSO THIS STORY HAS REACHED OVER ONE MILLION HITS. WHAT THE WHAT?


	186. Mollie Solves the Chandler Fiasco

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Mollie rubbed her temples and turned to her son. "All right, let me run through it one more time," she said. "<em>You <em>were texting another boy and hiding it from Blaine."

Kurt bit his lip.

She turned to her son's boyfriend. "And _you, _instead of discussing it rationally after you'd calmed down a little, sang a song that led Kurt to believe you were dumping him publicly," she said.

Blaine flushed red all the way up to his ears.

Mollie sighed. "Lord have mercy," she sighed. She sat up and rested her folded hands on the table. The two boys stared at her, wide-eyed, their cups of warm milk cooling in front of them. "All right. Let me see. Kurt." She pointed at her son. "Shame on you for investing in another boy."

"I wasn't flirting with him!" Kurt protested. "He was just-"

"You were spending more time texting him than spending with Blaine and fixing your relationship," she said firmly. Her son's crystalline blue eyes welled up and she resisted the urge to cup his cheeks in her hands and coo over him till he stopped crying. If he was going to make her fix his grown-up problems, then dammit, she had to treat him like a grown-up. "You were investing in your relationship with Chandler instead of investing in Blaine, whether you were flirting with him or not."

Kurt clamped his lips shut and sat back, his chin wobbling.

"And you, young man," she said, turning to Blaine. "You are emotionally constipated."

Blaine blanched. "I'm what?" he stammered.

"You are emotionally constipated," she informed him. "You don't talk to Kurt about what's bothering you. You just bottle it up and assume he'll figure things out."

"But I-"

"You can't treat Kurt like a mind reader," she said. She tucked her hair away from her forehead. "You two care deeply about each other, yes?"

They both nodded, still studiously avoiding each other.

"Then you need to put on your big-boy skivvies and deal with this," she said firmly. "You need to talk things over. Even the hard things. Pretending the hard things don't exist isn't going to make them go away or make them easier to handle."

She stood up and kissed Blaine on the forehead, then kissed Kurt on the cheek. "I am going to set the timer for twenty minutes. You two are going to talk to each other. Respectfully, and calmly. When I come back, you can choose to either continue to talk, or Blaine can go home and you can try talking again later. Either way, you are going to discuss this rationally and in-person, instead of letting it fester at school or blow up over social media."

She left the kitchen with one surreptitious squeeze to her son's arm and went into the living room. Burt glanced up from his mechanics magazine. "They're still fighting?" he whispered.

Mollie sank down beside him on the couch, tucking her feet underneath her. "Well, Blaine stopped shouting and Kurt stopped crying," she said. "They switched for a while- Blaine cried and Kurt shouted- and then they switched back, but by the time I'd gotten the story straight, they'd both calmed down."

"See, I thought we'd escaped this by not having any daughters," Burt mused.

Mollie elbowed him sharply in the side. "Burt!"

"What?" he said. "Usually guys don't…you know. Talk about their feelings."

"The world would be a much better place if men talked about their feelings instead of pretending they don't have any," Mollie said. She leaned her head on her shoulder. "You talk about your feelings."

"Only because you make me," Burt mumbled.

"I don't make you, I have just trained you well after the past eighteen years of marriage," she corrected. Burt laughed softly and kissed the top of her head.

When twenty minutes was up, she slid off the couch and went into the kitchen. "All right, boys," she said. "How are we doing?"

Her son and his boyfriend sat as close to each other as possible, their hands clasped tightly. "I think…I think we worked it out," Kurt said. He took a deep shuddering breath. "Oh my god, I've been an ass."

"No, I was too," Blaine said. He smoothed a strand of escaping hair away from Kurt's face. "We were both jerks."

"So we're done with the screaming and the crying and the accusations?" Mollie asked, arching an eyebrow. The boys nodded meekly.

"And you're not breaking up?" They shook their heads.

"Have we learned an important lesson about communication?" They nodded.

"Good. What would you like for dinner?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****SEE? MOLLIE WOULD HAVE SOLVED THE CHANDLER FIASCO SO EASILY. SO. EASILY.

Also, I firmly believe that if Mollie had lived, she would have always been a huge softie when it came to Kurt. He would always be her baby.

Except that while she learned to say no to his big blue eyes and adorable pout, Burt never did. I mean, watch the Hummels in canon. Kurt gets all the stuff he wants. _Burt cannot say no. _It's probably the combination of Kurt turning on the puppy-dog face and Burt wanting to make up for the fact that his little boy lost his mama, so he just buys him things and hopes he can make up for it.

I think the biggest example of it is the bag that Kurt takes to Dalton. Starting with 2x09 (Special Education), Kurt has a new schoolbag with a red-striped strap. Fashion of Glee (GREATEST. SITE. EVER.) identified it as a super-expensive Marc Jacobs bag.

So my headcanon is that as everyone rushed around getting Kurt to Dalton, settling him into his dorm and getting new school supplies and uniforms and getting his transcript from McKinley, Burt felt _so bad _about how badly his little boy had been bullied, and that he didn't do enough to stop it, and now his baby had to go to a new school two hours away all by himself, but instead of talking to Kurt about it, he went to the only decent mall in Lima's vicinity, bought a bag with a label he recognized from Kurt's credit card receipts and in a color that he knew would match Kurt's new uniform, and presented it to him unceremoniously by just handing it to him in the shopping bag with a gruff "here." And seeing how happy it made Kurt, how excited he got, and having his son run up to hug him made him feel a little bit better, even if it couldn't fix everything.

That was the longest, strangest tangent ever.

But yeah. Tl;dr, Burt Hummel spoils his son because he can't deal with emotions.

OMG MAYBE THAT'S WHY KURT IS DATING BLAINE. BECAUSE BLAINE IS EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED. LIKE HIS FATHER. AND THEY ALWAYS SAY THAT YOU FALL IN LOVE WITH PEOPLE WHO MIRROR YOUR PARENTS, AT LEAST A LITTLE.

(Although honestly, my husband isn't much like my father at all. He's more like my grandfather, whom I loved dearly, so that makes sense.)

(STILL ON A TANGENT OKAY I'M GOING TO GO PAINT MY NAILS NOW.)

(THE COLOR IS NYC BIG APPLE RED CREME, BUT I REFER TO IT AS "WHORE RED." IT MAKES ME FEEL DELIGHTFULLY SLUTTY.)

(AGAIN WITH THE TANGENTS.)


	187. Suddenly, Nosebleed!

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Finn shifted uncomfortably in his bed and stared up at the ceiling. It was three in the morning, and he wasn't sure how things could get much worse.<p>

Number one: it was three in the morning and he was still awake.

Number two: his mother and brand-new stepfaather were out of town for the weekend for an abbreviated honeymoon at a bed and breakfast in Virginia, and he was starting to panic about how he was going to feed himself for the next four days.

And number three: from the sounds of it, his brand-new stepbrother was having one of…_those dreams _in the bed not six feet away from him.

Finn pulled the blankets over his face. Sure, he knew that Kurt couldn't help it. Goodness knows that if Kurt didn't sleep like the dead, he probably would have been kept awake by Finn's own imagination. But he really didn't want to think about what Kurt was dreaming about. He wasn't entirely sure how sex with two dudes worked, and he wasn't terribly interested in learning more.

Kurt whimpered in his sleep and tossed restlessly. "Mmgh…stop it," he mumbled. "Stop it. Lea'me 'lone."

Finn peeked out from behind his blankets. It didn't sound like a very good dream. Maybe it wasn't-

Kurt made a high pitched keening noise through his teeth and arched his back. "Don' touch me!" he cried. "Don'…don' touch me!"

Finn sat up and rubbed his eyes. That definitely didn't sound like a pleasant dream. Kurt sounded scared.

Kurt flung his arms in the air like he was taking a swing at an invisible assailant. "Stop!" he screamed, and suddenly his arms dropped, his fist connecting with his nose with a sickening crack.

Finn winced. "Kurt?" he ventured. "Wake up, dude, I think you're having a bad dream."

He switched on the bedside lamp and recoiled. Blood splattered Kurt's pale face, his bed sheets, and his pillow. Kurt's blue eyes were open and hazy. "Wha…what happened?" he said, his chest heaving. "What…oh my god." He touched his bleeding nose gingerly and stared at his shaking hands. "Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god."

Finn scrambled out of bed, his long legs tripping under him. "Hey, dude, it's okay," he said hastily. "It's just a nosebleed. You punched yourself in the face in your sleep and-"

Kurt bolted upright, staring at his reddened hands. Blood poured steadily down his face and neck, staining his sleep shirt. "Oh my god, oh my god!" he wailed. "What's happening to me? Am I dying?"

"No, dude, you're okay!" Finn said, leaning on the foot of his brother's bed. Kurt had gone stark white, his eyes wild. His breathing came in broken gasps so loud he could hear them across the room. "Your nose is bleeding, that's all!"

Kurt surveyed the damage with wild eyes, looking from the bed to his pajama to his hands, all stained vivid red. Blood was still gushing out of his nose. "I want my dad!" he screamed. "I want my dad! Oh my god! Oh my god!"

Finn pushed himself up and stumbled into the bathroom, grabbing the first towel he could find. Kurt began to cry hysterically, his hands shaking so badly that flecks of blood dripped off his hands and onto the bed. "It's okay," Finn called. He sat down beside Kurt, clamped the towel over his nose, and leaned his head forward against his chest. "It's okay, you're gonna be okay."

"I want my dad!" Kurt sobbed, his voice muffled. "Oh my god, I want my dad! Leave me alone and get my dad!"

Finn pulled him closer and rested his chin on top of Kurt's head. "I'm all you got right now, okay?" he said softly. "It's gonna be all right, even if your dad's not here."

He couldn't hear Kurt crying, but he could feel his younger stepbrother's shoulders shaking, lurching with heavy stifled sobs. Finn adjusted the towel against Kurt's nose and wrapped his arms tighter around him. Maybe the contact would help him calm down.

After a while he felt Kurt's sobs give way to deep hitching breaths, and then slow shuddering sighs. Finn rubbed his back. He could feel a wet splotch on the shoulder of his shirt; he wasn't sure if it was blood or tears, but right then he didn't really care. "Let me see your nose," Finn pressed. He took Kurt by the upper arms and leaned him upright, then pulled the towel away and eyed him critically. "I think it's stopped bleeding, but man, you're going to have a bruise in the morning." He probed the bridge of Kurt's nose with his thumb- the skin was already faintly purple and he could feel the beginnings of swelling. "It's not broken, though." He ruffled Kurt's sleep mussed hair. "Dude, I didn't know you could punch like that."

Kurt covered his eyes with his fingertips and sighed deeply into his palms. "I didn't either," he said, his voice hoarse and broken. He exhaled slowly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak out. You can go back to sleep. I'll…I'll clean this up."

"Dude, I'm not letting you get up," Finn said. "You clocked yourself pretty hard." He picked up the damp towel, wincing a little when he saw Kurt go a little green around the mouth at the sight of the blood. "You just sit there, okay? I'll be right back."

He dumped the soaked towel in the bathtub and ran cold water over it, then picked up a clean washcloth and dampened it. When he came back in the room, Kurt was huddled in the middle of his bed, his legs drawn up to his chest, chin resting on his knees. "Come on, sit up," Finn said, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. Kurt straightened up and sat Indian-style. The blood had begun to dry on his face and neck. Finn sat down and wiped it away gently. "What were you dreaming about?"

Kurt was silent for a long minute, pulling away slightly when Finn pressed too hard on his sore nose. "Sorry," he said.

Kurt closed his eyes as Finn wiped blood away from his cheek. "Karofsky," he said quietly. "I dreamed about Karofsky."

Finn frowned. "You haven't seen him since you started going to Dalton last month, right?" he said.

"No, but I…it still bothers me," Kurt said. He hissed through his teeth as Finn touched his nose.

"Sorry, sorry," Finn apologized. He dropped the washcloth on the nightstand and sat back, eying him critically. "Karofsky really hurt you, didn't he? I mean…not really just physically. He messed you up."

Kurt hesitated, then nodded.

Finn rubbed his shoulder. "I'm glad you're safe at Dalton, then," he said. Kurt sort of smiled at him. He looked terribly young right then, pale and wan in his bloodstained, oversized pajama shirt and his tousled hair. Finn wondered if he should hug him or something. "You wanna go back to sleep?"

"As long as I don't dream about fist fights again," Kurt sighed. He surveyed the bloody mess of his bed. "And I need to clean this up first."

"Don't worry about it," Finn said.

"But my sheets-"

"Dude, that much blood isn't going to come out completely," Finn said. "Trust me. I bleed all the time on my football practice clothes, and there are stains on some of those shirts from the last century. You might as well just toss those and buy new ones."

Kurt lifted his chin. "I suppose I could be persuaded to go shopping," he said.

Finn grinned. "You gotta change your shirt, though," he said. "That's gross."

Kurt looked down at his shirt and blanched. "Oh my god," he said. "Oh my god, that's-"

"Okay, stop looking at it before you hyperventilate again," Finn said. He grabbed the hem of Kurt's shirt and yanked it over his head and arms before he could protest.

"Finn!" Kurt exclaimed, horrified.

"What? I don't care about seeing you shirtless," Finn shrugged. He tossed Kurt's bloody shirt in the trashcan and grabbed the first clean tee he could find in the laundry basket. He chucked it at Kurt, who caught it helplessly. "Careful getting it on over your nose."

"Yes, Father," Kurt grumbled as he wrestled into it. "Ugh, this is one of your shirts. It's huge."

"It's clean," Finn shrugged. "Now, where do you want to sleep? Because you can sleep in your own bed if you want, but I wouldn't want to sleep on bloody blankets. And three a.m. is way too early to change sheets."

Kurt scratched the back of his neck. "I don't know," he said.

"You can come sleep in my bed," Finn suggested. "I mean…without me in it. It's too short for me anyway, I might as well sleep on the couch upstairs."

Kurt hesitated. "Well…"

Finn pulled him out of the bed and hauled him over to his. "There you go," he said cheerfully, plunking Kurt down in the nest of blankets. "Now go back to sleep. Call me if you get another bloody nose, okay? But seriously, try not to start a fight club with yourself again."

Kurt smiled a little at that. "Thanks, Finn," he said, tugging the blankets up to his shoulders.

Finn grinned at him. "No problem," he said. Kurt's eyes were already struggling to stay open; Finn ruffled his hair again. "See you in the morning, little brother."

Kurt mumbled a sleepy goodnight as he rolled over and went back to sleep. Finn switched off the light and ambled up the stairs to the living room couch.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Ugh, nothing is more terrifying than waking up to a nosebleed. I have really bad allergies and used to wake up with them periodically, and when you're mostly asleep and there's blood all over the place, you tend to freak out, yo.

The prompter actually had this exact thing happen to her, and wanted me to write about what it would be like if Kurt did it. The answer: hysterical flailing. Which, honestly, if you had a nightmare and punched yourself in the face and bled all over yourself and woke up to a murder scene, you'd freak out too.

Also, I really love writing Finn as an awkward-but-loving big brother. It's one of my favorites.


	188. Asthma

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt hit the ground hard, his hands slamming down on the concrete running path. <em>Why are you so stupid<em>? he thought furiously in between wheezes.

He shouldn't have gone running today. It was too hot. He forgot his water bottle at home. He was tired from staying up too late the night before.

_Now you're going to die in the middle of the park, _he thought. _Good job._

The sarcastic self-deprecation was the only thing keeping him from having a full-on freakout along with his asthma attack. He yanked his earbuds out and closed his eyes, struggling to calm his breathing as he fumbled in his shorts pocket for his inhaler.

Oh. That's right. His asthma inhaler was sitting next to his water bottle. At home on the kitchen counter.

He let out a frustrated, panicky noise between his teeth and sagged down to the hot pavement, his whole body heaving. It was getting harder and harder to catch his breath, and he could feel his vision going blurry around the edges.

A pair of sparkly turquoise sneakers stopped in his line of sight. "Hey!" a voice piped up. "Are you dead?"

Kurt tried to eke out an answer, but all that came out was a croak. The owner of the sparkly sneakers screamed. "Noah!" she bellowed. "Noah, Noah, I found a dead guy! No, a real one this time!"

The sparkly sneakers ran off, the heels lighting up in cheerful red flashes. Kurt coughed and tasted blood.

A new pair of shoes appeared in front of him, this time a pair of battered, dirty Converses. "Hummel? What the hell, dude?"

"NOAH. YOU CUSSED. I'M TELLING-"

"Avivah, stop it." The little girl's voice cut off abruptly. "Go get your backpack, okay?"

A pair of large sturdy hands grabbed Kurt by the upper arms and raised him into a sitting position. Kurt blinked hazily, his mouth gaping open as he gasped for breath, and Noah Puckerman frowned at him. "What's wrong with you?" he asked.

"Asthma," Kurt wheezed. He grabbed at the neckline of his shirt. "Can't…breathe."

"You got an inhaler?" Puck asked.

"H-home."

Puck grabbed him under his arms and hoisted him off the hot pavement. "Why'd you go running when it's this hot out?" he said.

"Don't…kn…" Kurt tried to say, but he choked. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his heartbeat race in panic. Puck hauled him over to a bench and forced him to sit down.

Puck's little sister ran back to them with a Tangled backpack in her hands. "Here!" she said, tossing it at him. "Why do you want my backpack?"

Puck unzipped it and rummaged around for a while before pulling out a blue asthma inhaler. "Okay, this is my sister's, but it's gonna help, okay?" he said.

"Hey! That's mine!" she protested.

"Cool it, Viv," Puck said, putting his hand on her head and pushing her back gently. "Did Ma put those wet wipe things in your backpack?"

"Yeah, they're in there somewhere," Avivah said, hip-checking her big brother out of the way and digging through the contents of her bag. Kurt closed his eyes.

"Hey, Hummel, none of that," Puck said. He tilted his head back and cupped his hand around the back of Kurt's neck. "I cleaned off the mouthpiece so don't freak out on me."

Cool plastic was forced between his lips and a puff of slightly-stinging air flooded his mouth. Kurt gasped and swallowed hard, his Adam's apple jumping as the medicine hit the back of his throat. A second puff, and the burning in his lungs subsided just the tiniest bit.

"Is that better?" Puck asked. Kurt nodded, his chest heaving. "Cool. I'm gonna call somebody to come pick you up. Avivah, you sit with him."

"But you told me not to talk to strangers," the child said primly, crossing her arms over her chest and sticking her nose in the air.

"Avivah, this is my boy Kurt from glee club. Kurt, this is my brat Avivah," Puck said dryly. "Now you're not strangers. Sit."

Kurt put his hands on his head and struggling to take in a decent size breath. Puck's sister plopped down beside him. She looked about nine or ten years old, with shaggy brown hair in a long messy ponytail and a banana yellow sundress. "Hello," she said. "I'm Avivah. I'm in fourth grade." She pulled her long legs up to sit Indian-style and stretched her dress over her folded knees. "You're sweaty."

"It's hot today," he said, closing his eyes.

"I know, that's why my mom made Noah take me to the park," Avivah said. "She makes Noah do all the things that she doesn't want to do. I have a question."

"What?"

"Are you ten?"

Kurt blinked. "What?"

"You look like you're ten," she said, eyeing him critically. "Just really tall. How old are you?"

"Almost…seventeen," he panted.

Avivah's large gray eyes widened. "Oh my god, you're as old as Noah," she said solemnly. "Noah's nine years older'n me. I'm very good at subtraction. And multiplication. But I hate science. We have to dissect worms. One of them had poop in it."

"That's…nice."

"In sixth grade we have to dissect frogs. I hate frogs. Noah sleeps with a stuffed frog. But he hides it under his bed when his girlfriend comes over. Except he doesn't have a girlfriend right now. Quinn was okay except when she was grouchy, and she was grouchy a lot. Lauren was really cool. She taught me how to wrestle, but Noah made me stop because I kicked him in the balls. Why does it hurt boys when I kick them in the balls?"

"Uh…"

"I have a question. Do you have a girlfriend?" Avivah pressed.

"No."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"…yes."

"Oh! So you're the one with the boyfriend!" Avivah said, pleased. "Noah told me somebody in his glee club had a boyfriend. He thinks you guys are cute. What's your boyfriend like? What's his name? Is he tall? I bet he's tall."

"He's…"

"Are you going to get married?"

"Well-"

"Are you going to have babies?"

"Um-"

Avivah frowned and leaned closer. "I have a question," she said. "I know where babies come from because Noah told me after he put a baby in Quinn's belly, but where do babies come from when there are two boys?" She leaned even closer, her nose nearly touching Kurt's. "Where do you put your penis so you can make a baby?"

"All right, Puckerella, you're done," Puck said. He picked Avivah up under his arm like a recalcitrant kitten and swung her around. "Go play or something. Stop annoying Kurt, the guy nearly died."

"But I want to know where gay babies come from," Avivah said, latching onto Noah's hand. "I have a question for Kurt, Noah, I want to know where the gay babies come from."

"From the nice gay baby stork, now go spin on the merry-go-round till you puke," Noah said, giving her a push. She stuck out her tongue and skipped away. "Sorry about that. She's a Puckerman. We don't come with filters."

Kurt could only manage a noncommittal wheeze.

Puck sat down and slung an arm over his shoulder. "You're in luck," he said. "I called Blaine and he's close by. He's coming to pick you up." He rummaged in Avivah's backpack and pulled out a juice box. "Thirsty? It's apple."

Kurt nodded. Puck stuck the straw in the top and handed it over; Kurt gingerly took a small sip. It was tepid, but it felt good against his raw throat. "Thanks for helping me," he said hoarsely.

"No problem," Puck said. "You doing okay? You freaked me out. You were turning blue and stuff."

"Better," Kurt said. "Not good, but better."

Puck patted his shoulder amiably. "I need to make it up to you for all those dumpster tosses from freshman year," he said. "Karma's a bitch, dude."

Kurt half-smiled. "I appreciate the gesture," he said.

They sat in comfortable silence until a red jeep pulled up in the parking lot and Blaine got out. "Kurt!" he called, jogging over to him. "Kurt, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Kurt said. Blaine pulled him to his feet and crushed him in a tight hug, his hand curling around the back of his neck.

"Don't scare me like that," he whispered, stroking Kurt's hair. Kurt burrowed into Blaine's embrace, nestling into his neck as Blaine rubbed his back. "Baby, you scared the life out of me." He kissed his temple. "Please don't go running when it's this hot out. And please don't leave your inhaler at home."

"I won't, I won't," Kurt sighed. He wrapped his arms around Blaine's waist and leaned his head into his shoulder. "Take me home?"

"Yes, baby, I'll take you home," Blaine said, pressing kisses to his cheeks and forehead. "I have your backup inhaler in my car. And when we get you home, you're going to take a cool shower and then lie down for the rest of the afternoon, okay?"

"Ooh! Kurt, is this your boyfriend?"

Kurt pulled away slightly to see Avivah beaming at them. She turned to Blaine and the smile faded into a slight frown. "Huh. You're not tall."

Blaine blinked in confusion. Puck slung an arm affectionately around Avivah's neck and tousled her hair. "Blaine, this is my little sister Avivah," he explained.

"Hi, Avivah," Blaine said, his arm still tight around Kurt's waist. "I'm going to take Kurt home, okay? Puck, thanks for calling me."

"Any time," Puck said. "Take it easy, Kurt."

"Bye, Blaine!" Avivah said cheerfully. "Bye, Kurt! I like your booty shorts! Where did you get them? Noah, I want booty shorts like Kurt's."

"Avivah Leigh, you aren't ever gonna wear anything with 'booty' in the title."

Blaine stifled a laugh. "It was too hot for normal shorts," Kurt mumbled.

"Kurt, your legs are really hairy!"

"Avivah! Filter!"

"I have a question! Why don't you shave your legs?"

"Avivah Leigh! Shut it!"

"Well, if my legs were hairy like Kurt's I would shave them!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****UGH I WROTE A SUPER LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE AND FANFICTION ATE IT. STOP BEING A BUTT, FANFICTION.

But anyways! Here's Puck's little sister Avivah! She's only mentioned in one first-season episode and we only see her for a split second, but she's clearly a grade-schooler and very excitable. And commonly accepted fanon states that her name was Sarah, but Avivah just seemed to jump out at me as a good name for Puck's sister- although Puck refers to her as Puckerella, Puckerina, and Puckerette.

Also, "I have a question" is her favorite phrase. She's quite a little question box.

Also, I think she developed a massive crush on Kurt after this, and was always pestering Noah to tell her stories about things Kurt did or said in glee club, and made him deliver handmade cards to Kurt that say things like "I like you even though your legs are hairy" and "You look nice in booty shorts" and "someday I'm going to marry you even though you have a boyfriend because I will send him to Russia" and Kurt is equal parts horrified and flattered, and Blaine laughs it off, although sometimes he gets irrationally resentful of Avivah even though she's a nine-year-old girl and _dammit, Kurt is his boyfriend and he's a little possessive sometimes._

__But in any case, I hope you enjoyed meeting Avivah!


	189. I've Made a Huge Mistake

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine opened the front door and gulped. "Hi, Avivah," he said.<p>

"Hi, Blaine!" Avivah Puckerman chirped. She turned around and waved merrily at the beat-up pickup truck in the driveway; the driver honked before peeling out in a puff of exhaust. "Your sister's babysitting me tonight!"

"Oh," Blaine said. "She forgot to tell me that."

Avivah skipped past him. Today she was dressed in a neon pink tank top, orange shorts, and polka dot flipflops. "Where's Francey?" she asked. "Francey! FRANCEY!"

"Upstairs, squirt, come on up."

Avivah tossed her Lisa Frank duffel bag in Blaine's face. "I brought nail polish!" she hollered, running up the stairs two at a time and nearly kicking off her flipflops. "Paint my nails! You do it so much better than Noah does!"

"Oh, god, I'm going to hide," Blaine mumbled, retreating hastily to the safety of his bedroom.

He barricaded himself in his room, switching on A League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and curling up on his bed with his summer reading list. The pulsing shriek of Justin Bieber and One Direction seeped into his room anyway, but he turned up the volume and forced himself to pay undivided attention to Sean Connery.

The Nautilus was in some serious trouble when Francey opened the door and stuck her head in. "Hey, Babbie, I have to run out and grab something," she said. "Keep an eye on Avivah?"

"Francey, I'm busy," he said, unable to keep the whine out of his voice. Francey stuck out her lower lip. "You know that only works when Kurt does it."

"Please?" she whimpered. "Ten minutes? I have to run to Kroger." She crawled onto his bed and nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder. "Please, precious baby brother?"

"No," he said. "No way."

She wrapped her arms around his stomach and rubbed her cheek against his. "Please, precious Babbie?" she wheedled. "I'll bring you back ice cream."

He paused. "Ben and Jerry's?" he said.

"Two pints."

"Fine," he sighed. "But I'm only doing it for the ice cream."

She blew a raspberry into the crook of his neck and jumped up. "Awesome," she said. "I'll be back in ten minutes. Avivah's watching a movie. Just keep her entertained, okay?"

"I'll do my best," he said, pausing the movie and sliding off the bed. It was only ten minutes. It couldn't be that bad.

It was astonishing how much damage a nine-and-half-year-old girl could do in ten minutes with a hair straightener and a Caboodle full of cheap makeup.

"What the he…heck did you do?" Francey gasped.

"I made him look pretty!" Avivah said cheerfully, pulling happily at Blaine's curls with a hot pink flatiron. Well, they weren't really curls anymore.

"You look like a sheepdog!" Francey said.

"I feel ridiculous," Blaine said morosely. His hair now covered his eyes and hung nearly to the tip of his nose.

"You look ridiculous," Francey said, covering her mouth with her hand. "Oh my god. What's on your hands?"

"Nail polish!" Avivah said. She picked up Blaine's wrist and flapped his hand at Francey. "Look! It's green! And it'll glow in the dark!"

"Avivah Leigh Puckerman," Francey said sternly, hands on her hips.

Avivah dropped Blaine's hand. "I'm sorry," she said immediately, folding her hands meekly in her lap. "I just wanted him to be pretty."

Francey reached into the Caboodle. "You forgot the glitter mascara," she said, brandishing the purple tube.

"Oh yay!" Avivah shrieked.

Blaine blanched. "You are not putting that anywhere near my eyes," he said, scooting back on Francey's bed.

The two girls advanced with makeup in their hands. "I have a question," Avivah said. "Can we put the mascara on his eyebrows?"

"Yes! Yes, we can! I like the way you think, Puckerman."

"Oh god. I was supposed to go on a date tonight."

"Yay! Kurt will love it!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****SPOILER: KURT DID NOT LOVE IT.

Look, more Avivah! She's such a funny little kid. And people really seemed to like her, so yay!

Also, Francey and Avivah makes for a terrifying team.


	190. The Babysitting Gig from Hell

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Finn peeked around the doorframe and scowled. His parents were giving the babysitter the last minute instructions before they left for the night; they had mere seconds to stop them.<p>

His younger stepbrother looked up at him. "You're sure this'll work?" he asked warily.

"Uh-huh," Finn said. "Now go. Plan A!"

He gave Kurt a push. They were only a few months apart, but Kurt was at least a head shorter than him and looked a lot younger than ten. Plus, with those big blue eyes and the "my mommy died" card, it was super hard for Burt to say no to him.

Kurt ran to his father and flung his arms around his waist. "Daddy, don't go!" he wailed, bursting into tears. Finn grinned. Kurt was really good at crying on command. "Please, Daddy, stay home with me!"

Burt hugged him and kissed the top of his head. "Momma and I are going out, kiddo," he said. "You and Finn will be fine with Rosalyn."

Kurt rubbed his cheek against his father's hip, latching on tightly. "But I want you to stay home!" he sobbed. "Please, Daddy! I miss Mommy!"

Burt picked Kurt up and kissed him on the cheek. "Stop pretending to cry, baby," he said, smiling at him. "Momma and I will be home in a few hours. You'll be okay." He set Kurt down on the ground and ruffled his hair.

"Plan B," Finn whispered under his breath. He ran into the foyer and flung himself at his mother. "Mom! Mom! I fell! I think I broke my wrist! See?"

"Oh, really?" Carole said, unimpressed. "What did you do?"

"I fell down some stairs!" Finn beamed.

"I see," Carole said. "Can you do this?" She bent her wrist up and down. Finn copied the move. "What about this?" She rolled her wrist in a circle. Finn did the same. "You're fine."

"Stupid head," Kurt whispered at Finn.

"Fart face."

"Your life is a fart."

"Boys," Burt warned. He wrapped one arm around Finn and one arm around Kurt. "They're going to be a handful, Rosalyn, but they're good kids. Don't let them prank you to death."

"The number for the restaurant is on the fridge," Carole said. "There's stuff for grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, and if they do their homework they can have one popsicle each. Their bedtime is 8:30, but Kurt usually falls asleep around 8."

"I do _not_," Kurt said, sticking his nose in the air. Finn poked him in the ribs. Kurt latched onto his father's arm and stuck his tongue out at Finn.

"Call if you have any problems," Burt said. "Don't be afraid to let them deal with the consequences of their behavior. We usually do timeout for Kurt, about ten minutes at a time, and we take away Finn's video game privileges. Give him a book instead."

Carole kissed first Finn, then Kurt. "Be good," she warned.

"Oh, they'll be good," Rosalyn said. "Bye! Have fun!"

Kurt elbowed Finn in the hip. "Plans A and B didn't work," he whispered.

"Then plan C is a go," Finn whispered back.

Plan C involved the Nerf guns that Burt had gotten them for Christmas and a very ugly vase. It ended, however, in Kurt sitting in the corner and Finn stuck in the kitchen with a Magic Treehouse book while Rosalyn made dinner.

Plan D involved spilling everything they could manage at the dinner table. They hadn't expected Rosalyn to be an award-winning softball player, though, and with her reflexes, it didn't turn out like they hoped. Kurt got ten more minutes of timeout and Finn had to wash dishes.

(At least it turned into Plan D Part II- Finn improvised by dropping dishes on the floor. They didn't break. Rosalyn took away his Playstation for the rest of the night.)

Plan E involved a very noisy, melodramatic argument while they did their homework. Finn got a little too excited and made the critical error of making fun of Kurt's newest acquisition to his toy collection, the special edition Ariel Barbie, which resulted in Kurt leaping at him, knocking him onto the floor, and sitting on his ribcage until Finn's face started to turn blue. After Rosalyn pulled them forcibly apart, she was forced to make Finn do his homework in the kitchen and Kurt do his homework in the living room.

(She was also forced to fetch Kurt's new doll from his bedroom in order to get him to stop crying, and he did his math homework with Ariel tucked safely under his arm.)

Plan F involved leaving a red popsicle on Rosalyn's chair before she sat down. Unfortunately she caught them, and she promptly sent them both to their rooms without dessert.

She didn't know about the walkie talkies, however. Finn waded through his dirty clothes and dug his out of from under his bed. "Kurt? You there?"

"Uh-huh," Kurt said. "I'm mad at you."

"I didn't mean to say that Ariel looked like she had a pig face," Finn sighed.

"Ariel's mad at you too."

"Listen, we gotta go on to Plan G."

"…what's Plan G?"

Finn squared his shoulders. "You have to puke."

"What? No! You puke!"

"You puke all the time, dude!"

"My mommy said I have a sensitive tummy."

"Well, my mom says I have a tummy like a dump truck, so you have to puke," Finn said. "You want our parents to come home or not?"

Kurt sighed, the sound crackling over the static. "Fine," he said. "But I have to eat something that'll make me throw up."

"Like what?" Finn said.

"I don't know. Peanut butter? Peanut butter makes me puke. Go get some."

Finn frowned. "Why do I have to get it?" he complained.

"Either you get it, or you puke."

"Fine," Finn said. "Be right back."

He crept out of his room and down the stairs. Rosalyn was in the living room, watching television and working on homework with her phone tucked under her ear, chatting away to somebody named Ashley. They were talking about boys. Finn rolled his eyes.

He snuck into the kitchen, grabbed the jar of Jif and a big spoon, and zipped back up the stairs. "Got it!" he said cheerfully, tossing the items at Kurt. Kurt caught the jar, but not the spoon.

"I'm going to do this in the bathroom," Kurt said, crawling off his bed. "I refuse to throw up on my blankets." He sat down crosslegged on the bathroom floor, flipped up the toilet lid, and opened the jar of peanut butter. "This is so gross."

"I know, but it'll work," Finn pressed. "Do it! Do it!"

Kurt scooped a large mouthful of peanut butter, hesitated, and stuck it in his mouth. "Ugh," he mumbled.

"Are you gonna hurl yet?" Finn asked eagerly, leaning forward on his hands and knees.

Kurt shrugged and took another bite. Finn waited as patiently as he could manage.

After about six big spoonfuls, Kurt began to look a little green. He was about to stick the seventh spoonful in his mouth when he suddenly dropped the spoon on the floor and lurched over to throw up.

"Yay!" Finn said, throwing his hands up in the air. He scrambled to his feet. "I'll go tell! Hide the peanut butter!"

He ran down the stairs two at a time. "Rosalyn! Rosalyn! Kurt threw up!" he said.

Rosalyn leaned the phone away from her mouth. "Finn, I didn't tell you to get out of your room yet," she said.

"But Kurt puked!" Finn said cheerfully. "You have to call our mom and dad!"

Rosalyn's eyes narrowed. "Finn, if this is another ploy to get me to call, I'll-"

Suddenly a high-pitched terrified shriek echoed from upstairs. Rosalyn jumped up and ran up the stairs. Finn followed her closely.

"Kurt, are you okay?" Rosalyn asked.

Kurt was clearly not okay. He huddled beside the toilet, his skin a scary shade of greenish gray. "I can't make it stop," he whimpered. "My tummy hurts. I want my daddy." He leaned over and threw up again.

Rosalyn knelt beside him and felt his forehead. "Okay, okay, sweetie, I'll call your dad," she said. "Finn, go to your room."

Finn froze as Kurt began to cry weakly. "But…but I…"

"Just go!" Rosalyn snapped, and Finn fled. He slammed his bedroom door behind him and flung himself on his bed, bursting into tears.

"Don't let my little brother die," he sobbed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to kill him. Don't let my little brother die."

He curled up in his bed, sobbing bitterly into his pillow. He could hear the muffled sounds of Rosalyn talking on the phone and Kurt crying between heaves. _I killed my brother_, he thought. _I killed my little brother._

The door opened and he sat up, his face red and puffy. His mother wrapped her arms around him and he sank into the safety of her embrace, clinging to her sweater and wailing into her shoulder. "Oh, my baby, it's okay," Carole murmured, rocking him like she used to when he was little. "It's okay. I know you're scared."

"Is Kurt going to die?" Finn wailed. "Did I kill him?"

Carole kissed the top of his head. "No, sweetie, he's going to be okay," she said. "His tummy is very upset and he's very scared, but Daddy has him and he's going to be okay." She rested her chin on the top of his head. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Finn whimpered out the whole story, from failed plans A through F to the stolen peanut butter. Carole listened quietly, her fingertips tracing soothing circles on his back. "So you made Kurt eat peanut butter so he would throw up and we would have to come home?" she said. He nodded. "Sweetie, did you know that Kurt is allergic to peanut butter? It makes him very sick to his stomach."

"I didn't know!" Finn sobbed. "I wouldn't have told him to eat it if I did!"

"I know, I know," she soothed. "And Kurt's just as much to blame. He knows peanut butter makes him sick." She kissed his cheek. "Honey, why do you and Kurt hate having a babysitter so much?"

Finn sniffled hard and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "'Cause before you got married, you used to leave me with a sitter all the time," he said in a small voice. "And Dad did the same thing with Kurt, 'cause he didn't have a mom to watch him and I didn't have a dad. But now we have a mom _and _a dad, so…so why do you gotta leave us again?"

Suddenly his mother hugged him so tightly he thought his head was going to pop off. "Oh, _honey,_" she said, scooping him up to sit on her lap. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry. Why didn't you say anything?"

He shrugged. "I dunno," he said.

Burt walked into the room with Kurt cradled in his arms, wrapped up snugly in a big blue and yellow quilt like a baby. "Hey, Finn," he said softly. "Kurt wanted to make sure you knew that he was okay."

Finn scrambled to his feet. "I'm really sorry," he said earnestly. "I didn't wnt to make you super sick. Just a little sick."

"That's okay," Kurt said, cuddling into his dad's chest. He looked sleepy. "Daddy gave me some medicine and some Gatorade and now my tummy feels better."

"A good night's sleep and he'll be okay," Burt said. He kissed the top of Kurt's head. "Did you figure out how this whole thing started, Carole?"

She nodded. "We'll talk about it," she said. "But I think it's time for two little boys to be in bed. Say goodnight to Kurt, Finn."

Finn leaned over and gingerly pecked Kurt on the cheek. Kurt hugged him sleepily around his neck. "Night," they chorused.

"Daddy, tuck me in," Kurt ordered, his eyes already half-closed.

"Kurt, I'll play with you and your Ariel doll tomorrow," Finn promised. "And I won't say she's ugly."

"Mmkay," Kurt said. "You can be Snow White."

"I don't like Snow White," Finn complained. "She sounds like she ate a balloon."

"Finn," Carole warned.

Finn sighed. "Fine, I'll be Snow White," he said. "But can they be spies?"

"Uh-huh."

"And can they blow stuff up?"

"Yeah, but Ariel gets the hand grenades this time."

"You can figure it out in the morning," Carole said. "Go to bed."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****All the love for baby!Furt. They're just so stinkin' cute. And think of all the mischief they would have gotten into!

And of course Kurt is the puker in the family. Of course.

I really love writing baby!Furt.


	191. Emily's First Breakup

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Emily pulled the blankets over her head. "Go away," she sniffled.<p>

"Too late, already in," Francey said. She plunked down on Emily's bed and sat cross-legged. Emily rolled over on her side and curled into the fetal position. "So. Seen any good movies lately?"

"Go away," Emily repeated, her face buried in her pillow.

"Too bad," Francey said, unruffled. "Your brothers called me in hysterics, and I really want Finn to stop hyperventilating, so here I am." She rubbed Emily's back through her thick white eyelet comforter. "I understand someone went through her first breakup today."

"He put in a note in my locker," Emily said, tears burning behind her eyes again. "He said he wanted to see if he had a chance with the new girl, and wanted to know if it was okay if we broke up."

"Ah, so he's a douchecanoe," Francey nodded sagely. "I dated at least half a dozen of those in my time."

Emily sat up and pushed the blankets back, her long brown hair a wild mess. "But I really liked him!" she wailed.

Francey shrugged. "I know, but he's a jerk," she said. "You need to let go of him."

"But I liked him!" Emily repeated. "We were going to go to the school dance next week! My first school dance!"

"Would you rather go to the dance without a date, or go with a jerk who's going to spend all night trying to flirt with another girl?" Francey asked.

Emily hesitated.

Francey took a tissue from the box on the nightstand and dabbed at Emily's wet cheeks. "You're only fourteen," she said softly. "There are plenty of other guys out there for you to meet- guys who are going to meet you and never even dream of finding someone else." She held the tissue over Emily's nose. "Blow."

Emily obeyed. Francey wadded it up and threw it away. "Trust me, honey lamb, you can date as much as you want," she said. "As many boys as you want. Get a new one every week if you want. But don't get yourself so hung up on one boy that you feel like you can't go on without him. Having a boyfriend doesn't suddenly mean that your life is validated, and not having one doesn't mean you're worthless." She smiled. "What do your daddy and your brothers tell you all the time?"

Emily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I matter," she said softly.

"And you do matter, Emily Carys," Francey said. She smiled and cupped Emily's cheeks in her hands. "You matter because you're sweet, and funny, and kind, and you're the apple of your family's eye, and the best damn babysitter my kid could ask for, and you're the only person in this house who can flip pancakes the right way, and you've got a heart bigger than this entire state, and if some punky little eighth grader thinks he can find someone better than you, then you had best let him go look, because he's not worth your time." She kissed the top of Emily's head. "Now. There's a whole army of family members hovering downstairs to obey your every whim. I suggest you milk this opportunity for all it's worth."

Emily rubbed the tear tracks off her face. "Really?" she said.

"Oh, yeah, it's the best part about a breakup," Francey said. She pulled Emily off the bed. "Let's see…Kurt's making your favorite pasta for dinner, Blaine brought you ice cream, Finn brought a video game that involves a lot of zombie killing, and I'm pretty sure your daddy is making plans to take you to the mall this weekend. Oh, and your momma is loading her shotgun."

Emily grinned, albeit a little shakily. "Sounds like my family," she said.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****It must be awesome to grow up as a Hudmel.

This was a super cute prompt to fill. Francey's so fun, and Emily's adorable. Plus the mental image of Finn hyperventilating over his baby sister's first breakup is hilarious.

Also, that's exactly how my husband, as a punky li'l fifteen-year-old, broke up with his first girlfriend. Needless to say, he did not, in fact, have a chance with the other girl, and spent the next several years trying to make it up to aforementioned first girlfriend. It's okay, though, because I ended up becoming the apple of his eye when he was nineteen and we got married and the first girlfriend was already one of my super close friends and she was a bridesmaid at our wedding.

And this is entirely unrelated, but if you noticed that the previous chapter was titled "The Babysitting Hog," I have one explanation.

DAMN YOU, AUTOCORRECT.

That's what I get for trying to post an update whilst at a red light.

It's actually titled "The Babysitting Gig from Hell," and if you didn't read it...I offer my sheepish apologies and ask if you wouldn't mind reading it after all.


	192. Bad Day

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Kurt?" Carole called as she set her keys on the kitchen counter. "Why are you home so early?"<p>

She glanced at the clock. It was only one in the afternoon, and the boys had glee after school. Neither of them should be home until five.

"Kurt?" she called again as she climbed the stairs. "Sweetie, are you all right?"

The door to Kurt's room creaked open. "Hi," he rasped. "I'm…um…"

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" she asked, a spike of panic shooting up her spine.

"I…I'm having a bad day," he whispered. "I got…I got sick at school."

"Oh, honey," she said. "Oh, honey, it's all right." She tapped the doorknob lightly. "Can you let me in?"

He took a step back and she nudged the door open. Her stepson looked terrible, his skin parchment-white and his lips grayed. He was half dressed in pajama pants and the striped button up he'd worn to school that day. "I'm really tired," he whispered.

"I know," she soothed. His hair was disheveled and his shirt was spotted in rusty stains. "I know. Sit down, sweetheart."

She unbuttoned his shirt like he was a child and he raised his arms limply to let her pry it off. Her heart sank. He had always been slender, but now his ribs were jutting out, his collarbone sharp through his thin white skin. She picked up a soft heather gray tee shirt from the pile of neatly folded clean laundry on his dresser and helped him pull it on.

"Are you cold?" she asked. He nodded. "Get under the covers, then." She helped him into bed, tucking his blankets and comforter around him snugly. He still shivered a little bit. "Here, give me your hand."

He obeyed and she pressed her thumb in the tender skin between his pointer finger and thumb, holding it for a minute. She released the pressure and watched the pale spot linger before it finally faded away. "You're dehydrated," she said. She leaned in and kissed his cold forehead. "What kind of Gatorade do you want?"

"I don't know," he sighed, turning his face away.

She kissed him again and went downstairs. Her heart ached. She hated seeing Kurt like this. There was nothing they could do to make him better. And she knew how painful this was for both Kurt and his father. They'd been through this before with Mollie, watching their beloved wife and mother get sicker and paler and weaker from the same illness that ravaged Kurt's body now. It wasn't supposed to be a lethal illness. Just a chronic condition, an annoyance to deal with on an everyday basis. But they lost Mollie.

And she knew Burt was terrified of losing Kurt too.

She filled a plastic tumbler with light green Gatorade and screwed on the lid, then carried it up to Kurt's room. Her stepson huddled in his bed, still shivering, the blankets pulled up to his chin. He'd lost so much weight that it was difficult for him to stay warm anymore.

"Here, sweetheart, drink this," she said, placing the cup in his hands and wrapping his fingers around it. "I know you're tired of drinking this stuff, but it'll help." He obeyed, sipping gingerly, and she brushed an errant lock of silky hair off his forehead. "What happened at school?"

"I just…got sick," he said, avoiding her eyes. "I left math class to go to the bathroom and I just…" He shrugged helplessly. She didn't press for details. The symptoms of Kurt's illness weren't pretty. "I went to the nurse's office and she sent me home."

"Did you tell Blaine or your brother?" she asked.

"No," he whispered. "I didn't want to tell them."

She kept stroking his hair. "They would want to know, Kurt," she said. "They're so worried about you."

"I don't want them to worry about me," Kurt said in a low voice. "I…I know what that's like."

He turned away from her, staring intently out the window. His shoulders trembled as he shivered. Carole watched him. "Just drink your Gatorade," she said at last, giving his knee a gentle squeeze before getting up.

She went into the master bedroom and turned on the closet light. There was a box on the top shelf she could barely reach, but she pulled it down with some effort. She pried the tape off the sides and pulled the lid open. It was filled with clothing, beautifully and carefully packed with tissue paper, and a soft warm fragrance drifted from the depths, like strawberries and caramel popcorn. She lifted the items carefully until she found what she was looking for and closed the lid.

Kurt was still shivering under the blankets, his cup half empty and tilting in his limp hand. He still stared out the window. "Here," she said gently, pretending not to notice the tear tracks on his white cheeks. "Sit up."

He obeyed, still not looking at her. She guided his stiff arms gently into the sleeves of the thick gray cardigan and tugged it gently over his shoulders. "Here," she said. "Maybe that will help keep you warm."

She buttoned the sweater and adjusted it around his thin chest. He stared down at it. "Carole-"

She kissed his forehead. "Do you want anything else to drink?" she asked. He shook his head. She placed his television remote in his hand. "You rest. Sleep if you can. I'll let your dad and the boys know you're home sick. I'll bring you some crackers in a little bit."

He nodded, dazed, as he pulled his mother's sweater closer around him. Surreptitiously he pulled the fabric up to his cheek and nuzzled it, breathing in the comforting scent of his mother's perfume, and Carole quietly closed the door.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Ugggggh, now I have a bad case of the morning sads.

This is from the 'verse where Kurt has ulcerative colitis, the same disease that Mollie died of in my 'verse. It's usually an unpleasant but not lethal condition, like it is for Kurt, but with Mollie she deteriorated too quickly and there wasn't anything they could do to save her. It's a disease of the digestive system, similar to Crohn's disease. And I write about it because my husband nearly died from it when he was sixteen- they had to completely remove his colon. So yeah.

But anyways, This is your morning cry. Poor precious Kurt.

Also, I've started playing around with a AU 'verse where Mollie didn't die, so Kurt has three younger siblings. And in that 'verse he has ulcerative colitis instead of Mollie. And it is sad.

I AM FULL OF ANGST TODAY APPARENTLY.


	193. Fairy Tales

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"…and so the prince took Cinderella back to his castle and they lived happily ever after," Mollie read. "The end." She brushed an airy kiss on the top of her six-year-old son's head, his soft hair still damp from his bedtime bath. He nestled closer, wiggling his little toes in his blue footie pajamas. "And now it's time for little boys to be in bed."<p>

She closed the book and hugged Kurt tightly. Kurt frowned and wriggled out of her grip. "Wait, wait. Then what, Mommy?" he asked.

"Then what what?" she asked.

Kurt sat down facing her, his small hands holding onto his blanket. "Then what?" he repeated. "What happened after they went to the castle?"

Mollie blinked. "They got married, I suppose," she said.

"Then what?" he pressed.

"Well, I don't know, Kurt, maybe they-"

"Did Cinderella go to college?" he inquired.

"Well, she-"

"What did her wedding dress look like?"

"Probably-"

"Did they have babies? Did they get a puppy? Did the stepsisters ever come to visit? What about the stepmother? Did they-"

Mollie covered Kurt's little mouth with her fingertips. "Hold on, chatterbox," she smiled. She gathered him up and set him on her knees facing her. "Cinderella went to college and got with a degree in textile merchandising, and waited to marry the prince until after she graduated because that is entirely more practical than getting married during school. They had a small but very pretty wedding, and Cinderella had a white lace dress but no glass slippers, because Prince Charming accidentally knocked one of them over and broke it. Then they moved into a very nice starter castle and adopted a puppy from the shelter."

"What did they-" Kurt began.

"They named him…um, Spot," Mollie interrupted. "And then they had three children, two boys and a girl, and the prince became the king after his father died and Cinderella ruled with him as his queen and they raised their children to be smart and kind and polite, and to always eat their vegetables at dinner."

Kurt, who had been caught hiding green beans under his napkin that very night, squirmed sheepishly.

"The stepmother and stepsisters were invited to visit, but they were too embarrassed after how they treated Cinderella so they moved to…Las Vegas and were never heard from again," Mollie finished. "There. Does that answer all of your questions?"

"For now," Kurt said. He snuggled closer and rested his head on her shoulder. "Will you read me Sleeping Beauty tomorrow night please?"

"I'll let your daddy read to you tomorrow," she grinned, rubbing his back.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Cutest.

Child.

Ever.

Ugh, why don't I have a baby yet?

All I have is a kitten. That I talk to in a baby voice. And snuggle. And wrap up in a blanket and call him a purrito.


	194. Francey Babysits Little Klaine

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Francey, Blaine, this is Miss Mollie," Lilah said. "She's going to be your new piano teacher."<p>

Francey looked Miss Mollie up and down, sizing her up. She was very pretty, with strawberry blonde curls and lovely blue eyes. "I like your dress," she announced.

"Thank you," Miss Mollie said. "I like yours too."

"Francey is nine and Blaine is six," Lilah said. "We've tried putting Francey in piano lessons before, but she's a little…stubborn. She might prove to be difficult."

"Daddy says I'm defiant," Francey added cheerfully.

Miss Mollie laughed. "Oh, I'm used to stubborn," she said. "I have a very willful little boy myself. He's the same age as you, Blaine. He'll be six in April."

Blaine pouted. "I'm already six," he said. "So I'm older."

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry," Miss Mollie said. "Kurt's a little younger than you." She glanced over her shoulder. "Kurt? Can you say hi?"

"No."

"He's a little shy around new people," Miss Mollie said. "Kurt, honey, wouldn't you like to meet Blaine and Francey?"

"No."

Blaine edged a little closer. "Do you like Power Rangers?" he asked.

A very small boy peeked around Miss Mollie, his blue eyes- just like his mother's- very round. "I like the red one," he said shyly.

"I have the red one!" Blaine said. He held out his hand. "Wanna play?"

The blue-eyed boy disappeared behind his mother. Miss Mollie sighed and picked him up; he promptly hid in the crook of her neck and pulled her long hair over his face like a curtain. "Sorry, he's just shy," she apologized. She jostled him lightly. "Kurt, wouldn't you like to play with Blaine?"

Blaine tugged on one of Kurt's shoelaces. "Please?" he said hopefully. "I've got lots of Power Rangers. And Ninja Turtles. And Francey's got a lot of My Little Ponies."

Kurt peeked out from the safety of his mother's shoulder. "I want the red ranger, and the blue turtle, and Pinkie Pie," he said, frowning.

"Okay!" Blaine said. Kurt shimmied out of his mother's arms, grabbed Blaine's hand, and the two little boys went running for the playroom.

"Thank goodness," Mollie sighed. "He's supposed to start first grade in the fall, but he's still so deep in the 'I need my mommy around at all times' phase."

"Oh, he'll outgrow it, and then you'll miss it," Lilah said. She smoothed Francey's dark curls. "Francey, honey lamb, can you watch the boys in the playroom while Miss Mollie and I have coffee?"

Francey brightened. "I get to be the babysitter?" she said. "I get to be the boss?"

"Yes, but don't make Blaine fold all your socks again," Lilah warned.

"I won't," Francey called, already running pell-mell up the stairs. She burst into the messy playroom. "I get to be the boss!"

The two little boys ignored her, already deeply enthralled in their play. The Power Rangers were riding the My Little Ponies into battle against the evil Ninja Turtles.

"I'm going to watch Alice in Wonderland!" Francey said.

No reaction. She grinned- Blaine was terrified of the Queen of Hearts and she never got to watch it. But if Blaine was distracted by playing with his new little bestie, then she could totally watch it without having to deal with a sobbing little brother.

She plopped down on the old couch as the movie started playing. The little boys ran around her shrieking and shouting; she tossed a pillow at Blaine, who kept playing without noticing her. She draped her legs over the side of the couch and settled down to watch the movie.

She had just gotten to the Garden of Live Flowers scene when she realized that the two little ones had paused to watch the movie. "I don't like this one," Blaine said, fidgeting anxiously. "Franney, turn it off."

"Nope, I'm the sitter and I'll watch what I want," Francey said.

"Franney, I don't like it!" Blaine whined.

"I like Alice," Kurt said. He climbed up on the couch and plopped down in the corner, then patted the spot beside him. "C'mon."

Blaine dutifully crawled up beside him. Francey stared at him. Usually Blaine would be a sobbing mess at this point, hollering about how he was going to tell on her. But he just sat meekly next to Kurt.

When the Queen of Hearts arrived on the screen, Francey snuck a peek at the little boys. Blaine was huddled up close to Kurt, his knees drawn to his chest. Kurt had his thumb in his mouth. But most miraculous of all…no tears from Blaine.

She sat up, frowning, and realized that the two little boys were holding hands. Kurt pulled his thumb out of his mouth. "See? It's just a movie," he whispered to Blaine. "It's not scary."

Blaine nodded and cuddled closer to Kurt's side. Kurt stuck his thumb back in his mouth and snuggled his cheek against Blaine's shoulder.

Francey grinned. _Now I can watch Alice in Wonderland whenever I want, _she thought. _Now…I need to get Kurt to come over the next time I want to watch The Goonies. Blaine's got to stop crying every time he sees a skeleton._

* * *

><p><em><em>**Author's Notes:**

****Aaaaaaand the winner for most mischievous older sister goes to Frances Meghan Anderson!

Such cuties, though. Especially with wee Kurt being all shy and stuff. I think he went through an extremely clingy phase, always wanting to be carried or cuddled or someone to hold his little hand. Precious baby. I also think he used to hide his face behind his mother's long hair when he didn't want people to look at him.

Speaking of little Kurt and Mollie, I posted a new oneshot yesterday, and I would really super mega appreciate it if you could go give it a little love. It's from Burt's point of view, about losing Mollie and raising Kurt on its own, and I'm surprisingly proud of it. So if you had the time to go to my profile and read "Vanilla Twilight" and give me some feedback- what you liked, what you didn't like, what could use improvement- I would really, really be grateful.

But yeah. Please enjoy sweet baby Klaine cuddles!


	195. One in Four

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

One in Four belongs to SwingGirlAtHeart, and this drabble was written with her kind permission.

* * *

><p>"Ugh, I'm so glad to be home," Mollie sighed, rubbing her cheek as the truck pulled into the driveway, headlights bouncing off the garage door.<p>

Burt grinned and cut the engine. "I bet Kurt will be excited to see us," he said. "Especially when he sees all the presents we got him."

Mollie laughed as she got out of the car. "You spoil him," she said.

"He's our only kid, Moll, I can't help it," Burt shrugged. "Here, you go on in. I'll get our stuff from the back."

Mollie headed up to the front door, her keys already in her hand. Burt reached into the backseat to get out their suitcases and bags. He was already looking forward to being home, to sitting in his own living room with a game on TV and his son playing on the living room floor and his wife humming as she made dinner in the kitchen. Mollie had really wanted to go on this trip- they'd never gone on a real vacation in the past four years of marriage- and it had been fun to go away for a few weeks, but he had to admit that he belonged in Ohio, in their little yellow house in the suburbs and his respectable blue-collar job. It had been exciting at first to travel around, especially watching how excited his wife got, but he liked his quiet, uneventful life just fine.

He leaned out of the car, Mollie's wheeled suitcase in his hand, to see a tall figure brush past him and get into the sedan parked on the curb. Burt frowned. That had to have been Mollie's old school friend, the one who had offered to babysit Kurt while they were gone. Strange that he didn't wait to say goodbye.

The sedan revved loudly and peeled off down the quiet dark street, and Burt hoisted the luggage up the front walk and into the house. Mollie had already kicked off her shoes and draped her coat over the rack by the door. "That your friend who just left?" Burt asked.

Mollie nodded. "He told me he had somewhere to be, but he said Kurt was absolutely perfect the whole time we were gone," she said. "He even said that he was the best he'd ever had."

Burt dropped the suitcases in the foyer and nudged the door shut with his heel. "Where'd you know him from, again?" he asked.

Mollie pulled the hair tie off her wrist and pulled her long strawberry-blonde girls up in a messy bun. "From college," she said, pulling the elastic tight. "We were in a few classes together. He got his degree in early childhood development. He was the director of a daycare up in West Virginia for a while." She went over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, reaching for the gallon of milk. "Funny, I hadn't seen him for years until I ran into him at that educator's conference in Dayton last month."

"Think he might want to babysit Kurt some other time?" Burt asked.

Mollie shook her head. "He told me he's catching a flight tonight; he's got an interview in the morning at a school in South Carolina," she said. She unscrewed the cap on the milk jug and recoiled. "Ugh, it's spoiled." She turned on the faucet and poured out the sour milk into the steady glug of water. "That's strange. Usually Kurt drinks us out of milk within a few days."

"Your friend probably let him have nothing but soda for two weeks," Burt said.

Mollie rolled her eyes and dropped the empty jug in the recycling bin. "I'm going to go check on him," she said. "Apparently he went to bed at eight and he's been sound asleep since then."

She headed up the stairs to Kurt's bedroom and after a moment, Burt followed her. The door to his room was shut tight, the hand painted sign with his name on it just ever-so-slightly askew. Mollie eased the door open and peeked inside, Burt leaning over his shoulder.

Their four-year-old son was a little lump under a pile of blankets and comforters, the top of his head barely visible. The covers were rumpled, as if he'd been tossing and turning, and his favorite stuffed elephant was abandoned on the floor. Mollie picked it up with a smile, brushing fuzz off of Raleigh's well-loved head, and tugged the blankets back just enough to tuck it under Kurt's arm.

Burt frowned. Kurt's nightlight, the one in the shape of a little rocket, had been unplugged and set on the top of his bookshelf, much too high for a child as small as Kurt to reach. It didn't make sense. Kurt hated sleeping in the pitch-black.

He picked it up, brushing a week's worth of dust off the bulb, and plugged it in, sending a soft soothing glow around Kurt's bedroom. Mollie sat on the edge of his bed, smiling as she smoothed his hair away from his face and watched his slow, steady breaths.

Burt bent to kiss the top of his wife's head. "Let's let him sleep," he whispered.

Mollie smoothed Kurt's covers reluctantly, adjusting his elephant against his cheek and smoothing his blue baby blanket around him, and kissed his round cheek. She paused. "Burt, does he feel warm to you?" she asked.

Burt touched the back of his hand to Kurt's forehead. "No, he's just hot from sleeping under a bunch of blankets," he said. "Come on, let's go to bed."

He got their luggage from downstairs and dragged up to their room. Mollie had already changed into a soft pale blue lace cami and shorts, her waving hair still caught in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, and was humming to herself as she scrubbed her face clean at the bathroom sink. Burt grinned and sat down on the edge of the bed to take his shoes off.

Mollie had just rinsed off her toothbrush and dropped it in the holder on the side of the sink when they heard it. Burt's blood ran cold. "Why is Kurt-" he started to say, but Mollie had already slammed the door open and was running down the hall.

Kurt screamed at the top of his lungs, high-pitched and uncontrolled. Burt followed his wife down the hall and hit the lights in Kurt's bedroom. His little son was thrashing back and forth on the bed, kicking his legs wildly. His ankle caught the cord of his bedside lamp and pulled it to the floor, shattering it into a dozen jagged-edge pieces.

"Hey, hey, Kurt, calm down," Burt said, reaching out a hand to steady his little boy. Kurt's eyes flew open as Burt touched his back and his terrified scream spiraled higher; he slapped at Burt's arm wildly and bit down hard on his wrist.

Burt recoiled sharply as Mollie pushed past him and tried to calm Kurt down. "Baby, it's okay," she called over his shrieking. "Baby, it's me. It's Mama."

Kurt still screamed in terror, his face turning blue from effort and lack of oxygen. Mollie climbed onto the bed beside Kurt and leaned over him, stroking his hair desperately. "Wake up, sweetheart, wake up," she begged. "It's okay. It's just a bad dream. Mama's here. Mama will make it okay."

Kurt's unfocused eyes faded into blue and he gazed blearily up at her, his scream pausing for a split second. Mollie smiled encouragingly at him, still smoothing his hair and resting her hand against his heaving little chest. "It's Mama, precious," she said. "Just Mama and Daddy."

Kurt bolted upright, his shrieking turning to hysterical sobs in a flash. He threw himself into Mollie's arms, crawling onto her lap and locking his arms around her neck in a death grip as if he could save himself if he only held on tightly enough. Mollie held him close and rocked him gently, tucking her hand up the hem of his shirt to stroke the soft skin of his bare back.

"Mama's here," she singsonged in a hushed sweet voice. "Mama's here. Mama will make all the bad things go away. The bad dream's over. It was just a dream, honey. Just a dream."

Burt stood a little ways back, still frozen in shock and horror. The marks where his son's sharp little teeth had sunk into his wrist oozed blood sluggishly, garishly red against his tough skin. He watched in a daze as Mollie rocked their son in her arms like a baby, draping his blanket around him and tucking his elephant in his arms to soothe him. Kurt's sobs turned harsh and rasping as he wore himself out, until he was hiccupping into his mother's neck, his small knuckles still stark white as he gripped onto the thin silky fabric of her pajamas.

"Do you want to come sleep in Mommy and Daddy's room tonight?" Mollie said. Burt saw his son nod vigorously, clinging to her desperately with his face hidden in her shoulder. Mollie lifted him in her arms, pressing kisses to his cheeks and nose and forehead.

She moved past Burt without noticing him, her eyes only on her frightened child. "You're safe, baby," she crooned as she carried him down the hall. Burt watched her walk away from him, her slim bare feet sinking into the soft pile of the carpet and the hallways lights gleaming in her curling hair. "You're safe, Kurt. As long as Mama's here you're safe. Nothing can ever hurt you when Mama's with you. I won't let anything hurt you."

Burt saw her carry Kurt into their room and set the child carefully down on the bed before crawling beside him, pulling the blankets over them both as he huddled in the safety of her side, and a strange sick feeling of foreboding made the pit of his stomach sink.

Kurt had never acted like this, even in the worst throes of a nightmare. Kurt had never been so violent. Kurt had never screamed till his face turned blue, not even as a colicky baby.

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

If you are confused- I highly recommend you check out SwingGirlAtHeart's story One in Four. It's absolutely amazing and heartbreaking- probably my favorite WIP right now. Without giving too much away, this is a little bit of backstory that I wrote inspired by the original story, and I got her permission to write it and post it.

But if you have some time, I very much recommend that one. It's on my favorites list on my profile and everything! There are some mega trigger warnings before you dive right into it, but it's so, so good. I check for updates like five times a day...

Speaking of updates, Poison and Wine should be updated either tomorrow or Wednesday! I got a little stuck on this chapter, and didn't have a lot of time to write thanks to subbing for fifth grade, but I should be able to put stuff together in short order!


	196. May 12th

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"What's with the face, Blaine?" Nick inquired.<p>

Blaine dropped his chin in his hand. "I'm not making a face," he scowled.

"Ooh, trouble with Kurt already?" Jeff asked. He plopped down beside Blaine on the slippery leather couch.. "Tell me all about it. I can help."

"You can't keep a girlfriend longer than a month or two," Nick said. "How are you supposed to give Blaine relationship advice?" He sat down on Blaine's other side. "I've been with Zooey for two years. I can help. Here, tell me what's going on."

"Nothing's going on," Blaine muttered. He pushed himself off the couch. "I'll see you guys later, okay?"

"But…what about Warbler rehearsal?" Jeff called. "You've never missed one!"

"Tell Wes I don't feel well," Blaine said. "And you can take my solo for practice today."

He shut the door to the rehearsal room and stalked down the hallway, fumbling for his phone. Still no reply from Kurt. Kurt hadn't talked to him since lunchtime the day before. He didn't call him last night before bed, they didn't exchange good morning texts, they didn't message back and forth during the morning classes, they didn't chat during lunch. Kurt hadn't answered a single time. And he didn't know how to feel about it- worried, or angry, or hurt, or concerned.

Blaine punched in Kurt's speed dial; it rang a few times before switching to voicemail. "Hey, Kurt, it's me again," he said, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. "Listen, I don't understand why you're ignoring me. If you could just call me back, that would be great. Thanks. Bye."

He hit end so viciously he had to check to make sure he hadn't cracked the screen. This is what he'd been afraid of when Kurt insisted on going back to McKinley. It had only been a month and a half, and Kurt was already growing apart from him.

Blaine tugged at his tie and nudged the door to his dormitory open with his hip. This was it. This was the slow decline. A few more weeks of this and it would all crash and burn around him.

"Blaine! Thank God! There you are!"

He jumped, nearly dropping his school bag. "Finn!" he gasped. "You scared the life out of me!"

"Sorry," Finn apologized, but he didn't really seem that sorry. He clutched Kurt's phone in his hand, his fingers smearing over the screen. "We need to talk."

Blaine's blood ran cold. "So Kurt sent you to break up with me?" he said. "He couldn't even do it himself?"

"No, no, he's not breaking up with you," Finn said. "He hasn't touched his phone since last night because it's…well, it's May 12th."

"What's so important about May 12th?" Blaine asked.

Finn opened his mouth, closed it, and scratched the back of his neck. "Can we go somewhere and talk about this?" he said. "It's…it's kind of important."

"We can go up to my room," Blaine said. "My roommate's out."

Finn followed him silently up the stairs. Blaine unlocked the door and shrugged out of his blazer, dropping it on his desk chair. Finn sat down on Blaine's messily made twin-sized bed, looking oversized and out of place. "So what's so important about May 12th?" Blaine asked, toeing off his shoes.

"Hang on," Finn said. He unlocked the home screen on Kurt's phone and fiddled around with it. "Okay, yeah. Have you seen this lady before?"

Blaine took the phone from him. "I saw pictures of her in Kurt's room," he said, frowning. "And at the house." He studied the photograph, then handed it back. "What does it have to do with anything?"

"That's Kurt's mother."

"His birth mother?" Blaine said. He took a closer look at the photo. The young woman certainly did look like Kurt- same fair skin, same long-lashed blue eyes, same pretty bone structure. "I haven't met her yet. Kurt never bothered to introduce me to her."

Finn blinked. "You…you can't meet her," he said.

"Why? Messy divorce?"

"No."

"Then why won't Kurt introduce me to his mother?"

"Because she died."

Blaine froze.

"His mother died," Finn repeated.

"She…she's dead?" he said. His collar suddenly felt too tight. "I just thought…when he told me his dad was getting remarried, I just assumed…divorce is pretty common…"

Finn looked down at the picture in his hands. "Nope," he said. "She died when he was eight years old." He glanced up at Blaine. "Nine years ago today."

Blaine sank down in his desk chair. "I am the most thoughtless, selfish person ever," he said blankly.

"No, dude, it's okay," Finn said, tight-lipped. "I didn't realize it was today until I was already yelling at him this morning to get up and go to school."

Blaine ran a hand through his hair. "How…I mean…"

"She was sick," Finn said. "Sicker than they thought. She died a month after Kurt's birthday. Burt went to Cincinnati to deliver a part, and when he got back early in the morning he found them both asleep in Kurt's bed but…but she was already gone."

Blaine covered his mouth with his hand. "Oh my god," he breathed.

"Kurt looks just like her too," Finn said quietly. "We've got some pictures of her in the house…and I've seen some of their old home movies. He sounds like her. She could sing, you know." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I think the really sad part, though…in the videos, Kurt's…I don't know. Happier. And not just little-kid happy. He just seems-"

"Like he didn't have to grow up so fast," Blaine said softly. He looked up at Finn. "Where is he right now?"

"He and his dad usually spend the anniversary together," Finn said. "They go to some of her favorite places, get her flowers and go to her grave."

"When are they coming back?" Blaine asked.

Finn shrugged. "I don't know," he said.

Blaine stood up. "Could…could I go back to your house with you?" he asked.

Finn smiled. "Yeah," he said. "I was hoping you would say that."

It was a long drive back to the Hudson-Hummel house. And it was still another three hours before Kurt and his father came home. They bided their time in uneasy quiet, as if they were hesitant to sound too cheerful or too happy.

The front door finally creaked open at ten o'clock at night. Blaine sat up on the couch, his stomach suddenly twisting in apprehensive knots. Finn glanced at him, then at the door, and crept out of the living room.

Burt tugged Kurt into the house, his arm around his son's shoulders. "Go to bed, kiddo," he said softly. "You're exhausted."

"I don't think I can sleep," Kurt said. His voice sounded thin and raspy. "I just…don't want to do anything."

Burt kissed him softly on the temple. "Scooter, it's okay," he said. "It's a rough day. You'll feel better in the morning after you've gotten some sleep."

"Sleep isn't going to change anything," Kurt said in a tight faint voice like a lost child's, and Blaine stood up without thinking.

"Kurt?" he said hesitantly.

Kurt turned towards him, shadows from the faint warm light of the hall lamp casting over his face. He looked worn out, his mouth drooping and his eyes bloodshot from crying. His jaw dropped. "Oh, _Blaine," _he said, relieved and exhausted all at once, and he flung himself into Blaine's arms.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Blaine murmured, his arms closing tight around Kurt's trembling frame. He sank down on the couch, pulling Kurt down with him. Kurt folded up tightly against him, his knees drawn up to his chest and his head resting against Blaine's stomach. Blaine stroked Kurt's hair and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. "It's okay. Sh, sh, sh. I'm here." He kissed him again and rested his cheek against Kurt's soft hair. "I'm here."

"Blaine, I…I can't…" Kurt whimpered. "I can't."

Burt walked over to them and gently placed his hand on his child's back. "It's going to be okay, scooter," he said. "Let's get you upstairs. You need to sleep."

Burt pulled Kurt gently to his feet and guided him towards the stairs. "Can Blaine stay?" Kurt pleaded, leaning heavily into his father's side. Please, Dad?"

"As long as he doesn't mind," Burt said. He shot Blaine a sharp look. "And the door stays open." Blaine nodded.

Burt supported Kurt into his room and eased him down to sit on the edge of the bed. Kurt rubbed his face, exhaling a deep shuddering breath. "Go to bed, kiddo," Burt said. He cupped Kurt's cheeks in his hands and kissed him on the forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too," Kurt said, shoulders hitching as he tried to breathe evenly. Burt smoothed his hair affectionately and patted Blaine's arm on the way out the door.

Blaine sat down beside Kurt and wrapped an arm around him. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Kurt closed his eyes and tilted his head up, shoulders slumping. He looked young and out of place, his simple black tee shirt and jeans rumpled on his slender frame. "Could…could you just hold me, please?" he said, still not daring to open his eyes.

Blaine leaned back against the pillows and tugged Kurt down to lie beside him. Kurt huddled into his side, his chin tucked against his shoulder and his arms drawn into his chest. Blaine stroked his hair, slow and gentle and soothing, until he felt Kurt's breathing even out as he fell asleep.

"I love you," he murmured. "I love you so much."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

It seems like every other drabble I write is about Mollie.

BUT I JUST WRITE WHAT PEOPLE PROMPT. AND APPARENTLY THEY LIKE MOLLIE.

I had someone fuss at me about "why don't you ever write just Klaine anymore?" and I was like BECAUSE NO ONE EVER PROMPTS JUST STRAIGHT UP KLAINE.

But if you would like to prompt something, remember to go to my tumblr and either stick it in my askbox or, if you're not a tumblr user, submit it! My ff-dot-net stuff is so screwy that it's really hard for me to organize and answer prompts that are left in reviews or in PMs, but if you stick it in my askbox, you have a pretty good chance that I'll fill it!

I leave now to paint my nails.

(It's OPI's Teal the Cows Go Home, in case you were curious. I'm kind of obsessed with nail polish.)


	197. Food Poisoning

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"I blame you," Blaine mumbled into his pillow.<p>

"Why…why are you blaming me?" Kurt said. He leaned into the arm of the chair and rubbed his temples. "It's not my fault."

"Yes, it is. It was your idea to go out dinner."

"You picked the restaurant."

"You said you wanted seafood."

"You ate everything in one sitting."

"You-"

Blaine paused in mid-argument to lean over the edge of the couch and throw up in the trash can. "I'm going to die," he whined.

"You're not going to die," Kurt said, already moving to clean out the trash can. "It's just food poisoning. You'll be okay."

"It feels like my insides are dissolving," Blaine complained, rolling onto his back and drawing his knees up to his chest. "I will never eat again."

"You'll be okay," Kurt repeated. He handed Blaine a glass of Gatorade and sat beside him on the couch. "Drink this." He stroked Blaine's sweat-soaked limp curls off his forehead. "You're still warm."

Blaine closed his eyes and leaned into his touch. "Your hand feels nice," he said.

"Drink your Gatorade," Kurt said. He tucked the blanket around Blaine's waist. "Do you need anything?"

"Maybe some saltines," Blaine said.

Kurt smiled, rubbing his thumb against Blaine's cheek. "I thought you were never going to eat again," he said.

"I think it'll help settle my stomach," Blaine said defensively.

Kurt kissed him on the forehead and took the empty glass out of his hand. "I'll bring you some crackers," he promised. "Lie down. I'll be right back. And we can watch a movie, okay?"

"I might fall asleep," Blaine threatened.

"My, someone gets cranky when they're sick," Kurt teased, and Blaine stuck his tongue out at him before sliding down on the couch and pulling the blankets up to his shoulders. He hadn't really planned on spending the weekend with a bad bout of food poisoning, but he'd been stuck ever since they had come back from their date the night before and threw up in the bushes outside his front porch.

The front door banged open. "Hey! Where's the puker?" a voice bellowed.

"Francey, stop shouting," Blaine whined.

His older sister sashayed into the living room and sat down beside him. "Aw, you always get fussy when you're sick," Francey said. She kissed his forehead. "What's been going on, Babbie? Kurt called me in a panic this morning."

He nestled into her side. "We went out to dinner last night and I think I got food poisoning," he said.

"What did you eat?" she asked.

"Salmon," he said. "I never want to touch that stuff again for the rest of my life."

"Poor baby," she cooed, ruffling his limp curls. "Kurt's been taking good care of you, though. I see all the hallmarks of a Blaine Anderson sick episode- fleece pajama pants, your favorite blanket, your copy of Narnia…and let me guess, he's bringing you saltines and Gatorade?" He rolled his eyes. "Geez, Blaine, you're such an attention whore when you're sick. I bet you've been making Kurt run around like a maniac, serving your every whim."

"He just feels bad that I'm sick," Blaine said. "He likes taking care of me."

Suddenly the sounds of glass shattering echoed from the kitchen, and then a heavy thump.

"Kurt? What did you break?" Francey called.

"...'m fine."

"Kurt?" Francey sat up, tilting her head. "Blaine?" she said. "What did Kurt have to eat at the restaurant?"

"Same thing," Blaine said. "But he's not sick, he said he's-"

Francey got up, pushing Blaine's blanket back and bolting for the kitchen. Blaine frowned.

"Can you bring my crackers?" he called forlornly.

He sat there and waited. And waited. And waited some more. He could hear muffled voices from the kitchen, and footsteps on the stairs, and the clang and swish of the washing machine starting up. It seemed like an hour before anyone came back.

"Finally!" he said, exasperated. "Did you bring my…Kurt?"

"Kurt's going to lie down with you," Francey said. "Guess who else has food poisoning?"

Blaine pulled himself up. "Oh my god," he said. "Kurt? Are you sick?"

His boyfriend leaned heavily on the support of Francey's arm, dressed in a pair of Blaine's pajama pants and an old Dalton tee shirt. "I'm okay," Kurt said in a small voice. His face had gone dead white and he was shaking.

"He's a liar," Francey informed Blaine. "A fucking liar who lies. He pulled a Linda Blair in the kitchen. It was hideous. Here, Ducky, sit."

Francey helped Kurt lie down on the other end of the couch. "Oh my god, sweetheart, how long have you been sick?" Blaine asked.

"Um…"

"Since last night," Francey said. "He's just really good at stealth puking. Can't even hear him." She pulled another blanket down from the back of the couch and tucked it snugly around Kurt. "You've got chills. Lie still and stay warm, okay?" She took a step back. "Oh god, I'd better get another trash can, shouldn't I?" She threw her hands up in despair. "I get to spend the weekend cleaning up puke! I'm so excited!"

She stomped off, muttering under her breath. Blaine leaned forward and rubbed Kurt's hip. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?" he asked.

"You needed me," Kurt said, shivering as he pulled the blankets up to his chin. "I just figured…as long as you didn't know, I could take care of you."

Blaine scooted over to lie down behind Kurt. "Move over, I want to be the big spoon," he said. Kurt smiled faintly and snuggled back into his chest. Blaine draped an arm around Kurt's waist and pulled the blankets over both of them. "I can't believe you let me be such a jerk."

"You're not a jerk," Kurt said. "A lot of people get whiny and demanding when they're sick."

"I'm whinier than most," Blaine admitted. He sighed heavily. "I made you run all over the house and do everything for me."

"It's okay," Kurt said. "I want to take care of you. I love you."

Blaine stroked Kurt's stomach, tangling his fingers in the thin cotton of his shirt and tracing patterns into his soft cool skin. "And I love _you_, and I don't want you to make yourself sicker on my behalf," he said. "Next time you're sick, you need to tell me right away, okay? No matter what."

"Mmkay," Kurt murmured, cuddling closer to Blaine's warmth. "I'd kiss you, but-"

"Yeah, gross," Blaine said.

Francey stomped back in and dropped a second trash can on the floor. "Yes, you two are adorable as a pair of baby kittens, but you have got to fucking separate," she said.

"But he's cold, and I'm keeping him warm," Blaine whined, snuggling closer and rubbing his cheek against the back of Kurt's neck. "And cuddling makes me feel better. Don't you want me to feel better?"

"Zachary Blaine Anderson, if you stay where you are and you have to throw up again, you will vomit directly into Kurt's ear."

"Oh."

"That's so gross," Kurt mumbled, and he leaned over to heave into the trash can.

"You boys owe me," Francey said grimly as Blaine rubbed Kurt's back. "You owe me big time."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Precious silly boys.


	198. Blessing

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine sat down carefully in the soft early spring grass and set down his small bouquet of yellow rosebuds. The pale gray marble was beautifully polished and there were no weeds to be found around the plot. He sat there for a moment, studying the stone, his hands knotted in his lap.<p>

She could practically see the thoughts racing through Blaine's mind, the words for his simple speech falling into orderly lines. This was a long time coming; she had been waiting for this from the first time her son brought her boyfriend to visit her.

"Hi, Mrs. Hummel," Blaine said at last. "It's Blaine."

He toyed with the cuffs of his shirt. "I've already talked to Burt about this, and he's all for it," he said. "And Carole and Emily. They're so excited. But…I feel like I need to ask you too, before I went through with it."

She pressed her hands to her mouth, the warmth of happy tears already burning behind her eyes.

"I love your son," Blaine said simply. "I love Kurt so much. I love…the way he talks with his hands when he gets excited, and the way his eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles. I love him when I find him sleepwalking in the living room, and when he wakes me up in the middle of the night because I won't stop grinding my teeth, and when he gets mad at me for forgetting to check if the dishwasher is clean before I put more dishes in."

She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on her knuckles, listening in rapt attention, wishing she could answer.

"I love him," Blaine said. "I can't imagine ever being without him. And…with your permission, I want to ask him to marry me."

He pulled a small black velvet box out of his jacket pocket. "Burt gave me your wedding ring," he said softly. "They resized it to fit, and…it's not like the Tiffany rings that Kurt's been looking at online when he thinks I'm not paying attention, but I think he'll like it just the same."

If she could still cry, she would have. She had loved her wedding ring. It was a simple white eternity gold band inlaid with tiny little diamonds- a lot more than Burt should have spent, but he had known how much she would love it. And now, here was her ring, the little symbol of her husband's love for her, and now her son would wear it, to show the world how much he was loved.

Blaine closed the box. "I just hope…that it's okay with you," he said.

She leaned forward and placed her hand on his shoulder. He couldn't feel it. Blaine just sat there a little while longer, running his fingertips along the edges of the rose petals, before sliding the box back in his pocket and getting up quietly.

Mollie watched him leave, unable to follow.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****D'aaaaawwwwwwww.

This is just a nice, sappy, Klaine-y way to start the day (or...finish the day...depending...on where you live...I suppose...)

Mollie's wedding band looks like mine. Why? Because my wedding band is ridiculously pretty. And there's a lovely story behind it. (Go in my Tumblr askbox and remind me to tell you about it!)

In the original draft, this was a lot funnier, mostly because Christopher Hudson was there and pestering Mollie and she was like "SHUT UP, CHRISTOPHER. I AM TRYING TO ENJOY THIS MOMENT." I like to think that Mollie and Christopher met in the afterlife, since they were buried in the same graveyard, and Mollie was so distraught over leaving her husband and her baby, and Christopher was deeply regretting how he had treated Carole and his son and wanted to make amends, and they ended up pulling strings to get her husband and his wife together.

I came up with that idea when I had had too much caffeine.

I didn't get to update yesterday because I was at a STUPID EDUCATOR'S CONFERENCE and didn't have time. And I have to go to the STUPID EDUCATOR'S CONFERENCE again today. It is very boring. AND I DIDN'T GET TO WATCH GLEE LAST NIGHT. MY CREYS.

On the upside, I wrote a new update for Poison and Wine when I was supposed to be listening to a lecture, so there's that.


	199. Anderson-Berry Sibling Sleepover

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"…and I just don't know what that's supposed to mean," Rachel wailed, dropping her hands to her lap. "Kurt, you're his brother, what does he mean?"<p>

"I don't know," Kurt shrugged, leaning back against the plush pillows of Rachel's bed. "I try not to think about what goes on in Finn's head."

Rachel huffed in exasperation and flopped backwards on her bed, but sat up when the door open. "Rachel, sweetie, do you kids want pizza?" her mother asked. "Hi, Mercedes. Hi, Kurt."

"Hi, Shelby," Kurt and Mercedes chorused.

Shelby leaned against the doorway. "Seriously, honey, I know you're all torn up about this football player business, but as dramatic as it is, you can't stop eating and waste away to nothing till he arrives to sob at your bedside," she said dryly.

"Fine," Rachel sighed.

"What should I get? Pepperoni?" Shelby asked. "Your sister wants extra cheese and your brother wants Hawaiian."

"As long as the pepperoni's vegan," Rachel grumbled.

"I'll do my best," Shelby said. A thin baby cry echoed from down the hall and she glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, Beth's crying. I'll get Francey to order for us, okay?"

"No, Mom, last time she got Meat Lover's just to spite me!" Rachel called, but her mother had already hurried down the hall to get the baby from her nap. "Ugh. I hate my family."

"Aw, Rachel, you know you love them," Mercedes grinned.

"I'd rather be an only child," Rachel grumbled. "Or at least the only girl."

Kurt stretched his legs down the length of the bed. "At least you're not a twin," he said. He picked up a bottle of pale blue nail polish and shook it. "I swear, if we had been identical, Dad would never be able to tell us apart. As is it, my name might as well be Quinn and her name might as well be Kurt, he mixes us up so much. And now we've got Finn in the house too. Thank God we don't have a dog, because Dad would totally start calling us Buster or Rover or Amanda or whatever we named it."

Mercedes raised an eyebrow. "You want to name your dog Amanda?" she said.

"Quinn and I watch a lot of Ugly Betty," Kurt shrugged.

"I would give anything to be an only child," Rachel said fervently. Kurt sighed as she launched into her oft-repeated tirade and started idly painting his fingernails. "That way my parents could focus solely on my career instead of saving for four different college funds, and I wouldn't have to suffer from middle child syndrome, and I wouldn't- _Blaine, get out of my room!"_

She picked up a pillow and chucked it at her brother as he stuck his head in her bedroom. He wrinkled his nose as the fluffy pink fleece attacked his face. "You're having another sleepover?" Blaine said.

Mercedes waved. "Hey, Blaine," she said.

"You're not invited, Blaine, because pesky little brothers are not welcome at sleepovers," Rachel said loftily. "You especially wore out your welcome at my sixth birthday when you ate all of the Tootsie Rolls out of my pinata and threw up on my new microphone stage."

"First of all, I'm only ten months younger than you-" Blaine started to counter.

Rachel held up her pointer finger, glaring fiercely. "Because you were an _accident_," she accused.

Blaine rolled his eyes. "…and second of all, I only ate the Tootsie Rolls because Noah Puckerman dared me to," he said. "And I-"

He paused. "Oh," he said. "Hi, Kurt."

Kurt glanced up from his nail polish. "Hi, Blaine," he said. "How are you?"

"Fine," Blaine said. He took a step forward, then sat down on the edge of the bed beside Kurt. "Fine. School's great. Awesome, actually." He cleared his throat. "I've got another solo. We're doing a Pink medley."

Kurt smiled. "That's fantastic," he said

Rachel gave Blaine a push, sliding him off the bed and onto the floor. "I know you want to be part of the sleepover fun, little brother, but this is for me, Mercedes, and Kurt only," she said. "We have important things to discuss. So go away. Come back when the pizza's here."

"Well, someone's in a bad mood," Blaine said, standing up and brushing off his pants. "Don't worry, I'll go. Bye, Mercedes."

"Bye, boo," Mercedes said.

Blaine smiled, his cheeks pinking a little. "Bye, Kurt," he said.

"Bye," Kurt said absently, carefully painting his thumbnail light blue.

"Goodbye, Blaine," Rachel huffed. Blaine sighed and left the room. "And close the door!"

Mercedes waited for the door to close all the way before turning on Kurt, grinning like a cat that got in the cream. "Kurt, I think Rachel's brother has a crush on you," she grinned.

Kurt jumped, nearly upending the bottle of nail polish. "I didn't…what?" he stammered.

"He very well might be," Rachel shrugged. "I mean, he's been writing a lot in his diary about some boy that he likes, but he won't write the name." She looked up guiltily. "I mean…not that I read his diary…"

Mercedes elbowed Kurt playfully. "Blaine's pretty cute," she teased. "In that prep school kid way."

"You don't honestly think he likes me, do you?" Kurt stammered. "I mean…I never thought…could he?"

"You are his type," Rachel mused.

"Oh, he likes Kurt, all right."

They glanced up to see Rachel's older sister leaning against the doorway. "Hey, Francey," Mercedes grinned.

Francey strolled into the room, tossing her coat on her bed and kicking off her shoes. "Frances, stop messing up our room," Rachel snapped. "You know, you never clean up our shared space. I even made up a chore schedule that you choose to ignore."

"Ignoring that," Francey said breezily as she flopped onto her bed. "Kurt, baby, Blaine is in _love _with you. It's adorable. He keeps waxing poetic about your voice and your eyes and stuff…and all kinds of borderline creepy things like that."

"Aw, that's not creepy, that's sweet," Mercedes cooed. She pinched Kurt's cheek. "Your first love."

Kurt stared dumbly at the pink walls of Rachel's bedroom, his mind racing. He really did like Blaine- he was kind, and charming, and he was a fantastic singer. But he had never thought of him as…as a potential boyfriend.

Francey laughed. "I think we broke Kurt," she said. "Shit, baby, didn't you notice all those big puppy dog eyes he keeps flashing at you? God, he's been pining after you for months."

Rachel sighed. "Fantastic," she said. "This is the last thing I need, my little brother taking away one of the best members of my support team."

"Hey, you still have me," Mercedes protested.

Shelby knocked as she entered the room, sleepy baby Beth tucked up on her hip. "Kids, the pizza's here," she said. "Wash up and sit down at the table. Francey, honey, clean up your stuff."

"Aren't we waiting for Dad?" Francey asked.

"Daddy's working late," Shelby said.

Rachel's face fell. "Again?" she said.

Francey tugged on one of Rachel's braids. "Cheer up, princess," she said. "C'mon, you'd better hurry or I'm going to make you eat some of Blaine's Hawaiian pizza. It has ham on it."

Rachel's jaw dropped in indignant horror and Shelby just sighed. "Girls, stop bickering," she said.

Kurt tuned out the argument. He was trying to figure out how he could possibly sit down at the same dinner table as Blaine. Eye contact. How did eye contact work again?

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****ARE YOU CONFUSED? THAT'S OKAY. I KIND OF AM TOO. AND I WROTE IT.

This came about as a completely random drabble after gif sets depicting Blaine and Rachel as siblings started circulating around Tumblr. So people started prompting me to write about it! And so...welcome to the Siblings 'Verse!

In this AU universe, Blaine, Francey, Rachel, and Cooper are all the children of Jack Anderson and Shelby Corcoran. And also Beth is there, although I might rewrite the drabble and take her out, because it doesn't really make sense. The ages go like this:

Cooper: 25

Francey: 18

Rachel: 16

Blaine: 15

They had intended to stop with Rachel, but Blaine was an oops baby, and he's so adorable and charming and spoiled. Cooper and Rachel are total besties- he's always texting her about auditions and stars he's bumped into and sending her souvenirs from Hollywood- and Francey adores Blaine the most. Cooper isn't in the picture very much, what with his acting career, and Francey is getting ready to graduate and can't be bothered much with her little siblings (other than Blaine, who is practically her baby), and Rachel and Blaine (who have been nicknamed Rae-Rae and Babbie since their babyhood) fight ALL THE TIME. But they all love each other. Even though Francey and Rachel share a room, and all three of them share a bathroom, so it gets a little crazy.

Blaine came out of the closet in middle school- first to Francey, then to Rachel (on accident), and then to his mother. His mother discussed with Jack, who pretends like nothing ever happened- not because he's homophobic or hates his son, but because it's awkward to talk about it. And then no one remembered to tell Cooper until he came home for Christmas and was like "...why is Blaine's half of our bedroom covered in Jonas Brothers posters?"

The Sadie Hawkins dance happened when Francey was a junior, Rachel was a freshman, and Blaine was in eighth grade. The two girls attended Carmel High School, and Blaine had been asked to the dance by one of Rachel's freshman friends. Both girls were there at the dance when he got beaten up. The Anderson parents were furious and leveled a lawsuit with the school, which they won, and they used the money to send Blaine to Dalton. Francey finished her senior year at Carmel, but they pulled Rachel from Carmel and sent her to McKinley instead, starting with her sophomore year. Both girls tried to help Blaine as best as they could, and he adjusted fairly well for all of the trauma he'd been through.

And in the other half of the Siblings 'Verse, we have Kurt and Quinn Hummel, who are twins! Yeah, I don't know where that one came from either, but I love it. They're fraternal twins (Quinn is older by seven minutes) and as babies they were so identical that Burt would have to check their diapers to see which baby was which. Then they got older and got more hair and stuff, and Quinn's eyes turned more green and Kurt's more blue, so that made it easier, but he still has a problem with mixing up their names when he's calling for them.

They used to share a room when they were little, until they were thirteen and driving each other crazy, so they made the basement into Kurt's room/rec room for their friends. They bicker a lot, but they're extremely close and talk to each other in French when they don't want Burt to overhear them, which frustrates him to no end- especially before Mollie died, because then the _three _of them would speak in French and he'd be like "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? THIS IS NOT FAIR. MOLLIE. KURT ELIJAH. QUINN CECILIA. SOMEONE START SPEAKING IN DAMN ENGLISH."

Also, because Kurt and Quinn had each other, they were able to console each other when Mollie died. Kurt took it especially hard, since he was extremely close to Mollie (Quinn is very much a daddy's girl). It was the main reason they wanted to keep sharing a room, even when Burt offered to fix up the basement. Whenever Kurt woke up with a nightmare, Quinn would cuddle with him until he fell back asleep.

Most of the kids at school don't even realize they're twins- they started to grow apart as they got older, especially when Quinn started cheerleading in middle school and got popular. But they got close again when they both joined glee club, and especially after Quinn got pregnant (which is one of the main reasons I want to write Beth out of the Anderson family- I think the Hummels would have kept the baby). And when the bullying got worse for Kurt, Quinn was the one who took care of him and took charge of things and alerted the school authorities and convinced Burt to send him to Dalton where he'd be safe.

Also, it was HELLA AWKWARD with Finn, because Kurt had had a crush on him since middle school, which Quinn didn't know about, and then they started dating and he was always at the house, and after Quinn and Finn broke up, Burt started dating Carole, so he was STILL always at the house, and then Burt and Carole got married and then the twins were like "well...we were both in love with the same boy and now he lives in our house." But then Finn leaves his dirty football clothes everywhere and makes really gross snacks (like his mega nachos) without bothering to clean up the kitchen and chews with his mouth open, so the romance died REALLY fast and now they're all just one (mostly) happy family.

I hadn't realized how much I loved this 'verse until I started spewing headcanons for it. I might have to turn this into a multichapter fic. Or at least write more drabbles for it. GO AND PROMPT THEM!

But you MUST prompt them in my tumblr askbox, not my PMs or in a review! My fanfiction-dot-net account is a swirling black hole of nerdy Glee cosmic soup, and any prompts you give me, no matter how lovely they are, will be lost in the abyss. I can never remember where prompts were left and can never find them again. So please, darling lovely wonderful people, go to my tumblr (redbullandcupcakebatter dot tumblr dot com) and leave your sweet sweet prompts there. If you don't have a tumblr, that's okay! You can use the submit box option. Type in my tumblr URL and add backslash ask or backslash submit on the end.

Now I need to go write more Hummel twin things, because I love them.

OOH I REALLY NEED TO WRITE ABOUT THE TWINS RIGHT AFTER MOLLIE DIED.

SOMEONE PROMPT THAT.

THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE IS LONGER THAN THE DRABBLE.

WHY AM I SHOUTING?


	200. Wet Baby Cuddles

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>The two five-year-olds stared daggers at each other. "Thtop it, Rachel!" Kurt said, stamping his foot. "You're not the both!"<p>

"I am so the boss," Rachel said. She jammed her hands on her hips and glared at him. "My daddies tell me I'm the boss, and so that means that you can't be Ariel. I want you to be Sleeping Beauty, 'cause your hair's the right color. Lucy has to be Ariel, 'cause she's got red hair."

Lucy raised a hand meekly. "I wanna be Mulan," she said. "Kurt can be Ariel."

"I wanna be Ariel!" Kurt wailed. "Thleeping Beauty ith _tho boring. _She jutht thleeps!"

"No, I'm the boss, and you have to do what I say," Rachel said firmly. "I'm Belle, you're Sleeping Beauty, Lucy is Ariel, and Blaine is the prince."

Blaine frowned. "Which one?"

"All of them."

"Do I get a name?"

"No."

"What about me?" Finn said. "You said I can play!"

Rachel reached up on tiptoes and patted the top of his head. "You can be our pony," she said kindly.

Finn stared at her, gap-toothed mouth agape, and stomped away. "I'm not playing anymore!" he hollered over his shoulder.

"But you have to!" Rachel called. "Now we don't have a pony! Princesses need ponies!"

"I wanna be Ariel!" Kurt screeched. "You can't tell me what to do! I'm gonna tell! I'm gonna tell my mama on you!"

He spun on his heel and ran away, back towards the benches where the parents sat. Rachel's mouth dropped open. "No! Kurt! I'm sorry!" she yelled, running after him. "Kurt! Don't you know what 'I'm sorry' means? It means don't tell your mommy!"

Kurt, already on the brink of a frustrated temper tantrum, wasn't really paying attention to where he was going. He ran as fast as his little legs could carry him towards the safety of his mother, but he skirted a little too close around the edge of the park's pond, and the toe of his sneaker caught in a thick patch of weeds. With a sudden surprised yelp he tumbled into the cold water, splashing down face first.

Rachel skidded to a halt and stared at him in terror. "I didn't do it!" she screamed.

Kurt scrambled to sit up in the shallow water, his clothes streaked with mud and his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He took a deep shuddering gasp of a breath and burst into terrified tears, burying his face in his hands.

Blaine ran over and hopped into the shallow water feet first. "It's okay!" he said, grabbing Kurt's hands. "You're okay, get up!"

"I w-want m-my m-mommy!" Kurt sobbed, his shoulders hitching.

"I know," Blaine said, bending over him and patting the top of his wet head. "It's okay. Here, wanna hold my hand?"

He held out his hand with a hopeful smile. Still crying helplessly, Kurt blindly latched onto Blaine's fingers and allowed him to tug him to his feet. "It's okay," Blaine soothed, squeezing Kurt's hand. "You're just wet. Wet's not too bad, right?"

"I'm wet _and _c-cold!" Kurt wailed. He pulled his hand out of Blaine's grasp and stood in the middle of the pond in abject defeat, still sobbing. "I wanna go home! I want my mommy!"

Blaine patiently took Kurt's hand again and waded out of the pond, dragging the smaller boy behind him. "See? Now you're out of the pond and you're okay," he said, petting the top of Kurt's head.

"Zachary Blaine Anderson! Why are you all wet?"

Blaine looked from his wide-eyed big sister down to his soaked socks and sneakers. Even the hem of his shorts were wet. "Um…"

"Rachel made Kurt cry and he ran away to tell his mama and he fell in the pond and Blaine went and got him," Lucy reported.

Rachel pushed Lucy, knocking her backwards into the grass. Lucy let out a startled wail. "You told on me!" Rachel accused, and she started to cry.

"Mama's gonna be mad when she sees that you got all wet," Francey warned, and Blaine's lower lip began to tremble.

Finn ran over to them, leading a whole swarm of parents behind him. "What on earth is going on?" one of Rachel's daddies asked.

Kurt's pretty mama ran over to him; he lifted his arms up to be held and started to cry harder. She took off her cardigan and wrapped it around him, then picked him up and cuddled him close. "It's all right, baby, it's all right," she crooned, patting his back as he sobbed into her shoulder, clearly not minding that he was soaking her dress with dirty pond water. "Mama's here, honey. Mama's here."

"She pushed me!" Lucy said, hiding behind her mother's legs and pointing furiously at Rachel.

"It's not my fault, she tattled!" Rachel cried.

Blaine's lower lip continued to wobble. "I just wanted to help Kurt," he told his big sister, clinging desperately to her hand. "I'm sorry. Please don't be mad."

"I'm still confused," Rachel's other daddy said, looking from one hysterical kindergartener to the next. "What happened?"

Finn cleared his throat. "Rachel was bossing Kurt around," he explained. "Kurt was gonna go tell his mommy, and he fell in the pond when he was running, and so he was crying and stuff, so Blaine went to help him, and then Blaine's sister was mad that he was wet, and he started crying, and Lucy told her what happened, and then Rachel got mad and pushed Lucy, and Lucy started crying, and then Rachel yelled 'cause Lucy tattled and then she started crying." He took a deep breath and beamed proudly at the adults. "I'm not crying, though!"

"Good job, honey," his mom said, patting his head and looking like she was trying very hard not to laugh.

Rachel's daddies knelt down to look at her. "Princess, were you trying to be the boss again?" the taller daddy asked.

She dug the toe of her mary jane shoe into the grass. "Nooooo," she said slowly. He raised an eyebrow and she sighed. "But I knew what we should do! They just wouldn't listen to me!"

The other daddy picked her up. "Rae-Rae, we're going to have a long talk when we get home about being bossy," he said.

She sighed. "Another one?" she said.

"I'm really sorry about this," the tall daddy said to Kurt's mommy.

"Oh, these things can happen," she said, resting her cheek against the top of Kurt's head. "Little kids are like this. I'm sure they'll be best friends again tomorrow."

"Mommy, I wanna go home," Kurt sniffled.

She hugged him tightly. "I think that's a good idea," she said. "How about a nice warm bath and some comfy jammies, hm?"

He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand. "And hot chocolate?" he said. She nodded and kissed his cheek. He gave a last shuddery half-sob. "Mommy, can I thay goodbye to Blaine before we go? He thaved me."

"Yes, KK, you can say goodbye to Blaine," she said.

She set him down on the ground. He drew his mother's sweater around his shoulders like a little prince's cape and walked over to Blaine, his shoes squelching noisily. "Thank you for thaving my life, Blaine," he said solemnly.

Blaine knotted his hands behind his back and ducked his head, his cheeks pinking. "You're welcome," he said shyly. He looked up suddenly. "Maybe we-"

But Kurt had leaned in just that second to give him a thank-you kiss on the cheek, and as Blaine turned his head, he ended up kissing the corner of his mouth instead. Both little boys hopped back in startled surprise.

"You kissed me!" Blaine said, shocked.

"No, you kithed me!" Kurt said. He whirled around. "Mommy! Do Blaine and I hafta get married now? Becauthe in all the printheth movies, when the printh and printheth kith, it meanth they're married!"

Blaine frowned. "You don't want to marry me?" he asked, eyes narrowing. "Why not? What's wrong with me?"

"There'th nothing wrong with you, I jutht think I'm too young to be married right now!" Kurt retorted. He flung his arms around his mommy's legs. "Mommy! Tell me! Do Blaine and I hafta get married?"

Kurt's mommy looked like she was having a very hard time not laughing. "You're too young to be married," she reassured him, her blue eyes dancing. She picked him up and set him on her hip. "What about when you're older?"

Kurt stopped to ponder this. "Maybe," he said. " I hafta think about it. Maybe when I'm older."

Blaine nodded seriously. "Okay," he said. "Are you coming to play tomorrow?"

Kurt looked hopefully at his mother. She nodded. "Uh-huh," he said, wrapping his arms around his mother's neck. "But tomorrow I better be Ariel. You can be Printh Eric, okay?"

Blaine brightened. "Okay!" he said.

"We'll see you later, Blaine," Kurt's mommy said, patting his cheek. "Say goodbye to your boyfriend, Kurt."

Kurt blushed rosy red. "He'th not my boyfriend, Mommy!" he protested. She laughed and walked back to their car, carrying him on her hip. Blaine waved goodbye.

Kurt leaned over his mother's shoulder. "Bye, boyfriend," he mouthed, waving back.

Blaine turned scarlet, grinning from ear to ear.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****MY TWO HUNDREDTH DRABBLE HURRAY!

This is one of my favorites. I was prompted to write "wet baby cuddles" and I just ran with it. Also, Kurt has a sweet baby lisp, because I'm totally convinced that he lisped as a little kid. Also, he is tremendously spoiled and it's adorable.

Also HOLY SWEET CRAP, YOU GUYS REALLY WANT MORE ANDERBERRY/FABRAMEL THINGS! I am slightly floored, but very excited. I got 33 messages on Tumblr yesterday and MOST OF THEM WERE ABOUT THE SIBLINGS. So I'm starting a second drabble series all about them. I JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT TO CALL IT. Any ideas?

But yeah! Happy 200th drabble to meeeee! I WELCOME YOUR GLORIOUS REVIEWS OF GLORIOUSNESS.


	201. The Particular Sadness of Chocolate Cake

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

This drabble is inspired by the story _One in Four _by swinggirlatheart, and her 'verse is used with her kind permission.

A motley assortment of trigger warnings apply.

* * *

><p>"I don't want it," Kurt said dully.<p>

Burt sliced through the chocolate cake, cutting a generous piece and plopping it on a plate. "It's your birthday, kiddo," he said, setting it down in front of Kurt and sliding a fork over to him. "You're only fifteen, you don't need to worry about being on a diet."

"I don't want it," Kurt repeated, staring at the cake. The glossy icing slid languidly onto the plate. "I hate it."

"You haven't even tried it," Burt said. "It's cake. Everybody likes cake. You want some ice cream to go with it?"

"I don't want it!" Kurt said, his voice rising. "It's disgusting!"

"It's a cake," Burt snapped. "Just eat it."

Kurt rolled his eyes and jabbed his fork viciously into the cake, scooping a large bite into his mouth. "There!" he said, spitting gooey crumbs across the table. He shoveled half the cake into his mouth, swallowing with an audible gulp and opening his empty mouth wide. "There, I ate it! Are you happy now?"

Burt gritted his teeth. "I thought you like chocolate cake," he said. "You liked it when you were little." He sat down at the end of the table with his own slice of cake and forked into it. "You were…" He paused. "You okay?"

Kurt shifted in his chair, his eyes downcast, his lips pressed together in a thin line. "I'm fine," he mumbled. "I'm…I'm fine." He shoveled another heaping forkful of cake into his mouth. "I'm fine."

Burt eyed him warily. Kurt looked paler than usual, the freckles on his pert nose standing out like ink droplets. He opened his mouth to press further, then sighed and turned back to his dessert. "I've got your birthday presents in the living room," he said. "Do you wanna-"

"I don't want any fucking presents."

Burt dropped his fork. "Excuse me?" he stammered.

Kurt stared down at his plate, eyes saucer-wide and glazed over, his head tilted to the side. "I said…" he mumbled, and then his chin jerked up. "I said I don't want any fucking presents."

The first hot spike of panic shot through Burt's chest. "Don't talk to me like that," he warned.

Kurt pushed his plate away viciously, overturning it and knocking the fork on the floor. His glass of milk wobbled drunkenly before toppling over, splashing over the tablecloth and dribbling on his clothes. "I'll talk however I fucking want," he snapped, slouching back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

Burt pressed his hands flat on the table. "Calm down, Kurt," he said. "Calm down and we'll clean this up and-"

"My name's not Kurt."

Burt froze.

"My name's Robbie, you asshole," Kurt accused. "Can't you even bother to learn my name?"

And all of a sudden it all clicked into place- the muscles jumping in Kurt's locked jaw, the challenge in his eyes, the way his shoulders hunched. It wasn't his son. It was an alter. A new one.

"Ku…Robbie," Burt said, trying to keep his voice soft and low like he was talking to a spooked animal, his palms flat and open. "Robbie, you wanna tell me what's going on?"

"You really think I'm going to talk about it with you?" he said, rolling his eyes. "Just leave me alone."

Burt reached across the table to touch his arm lightly. "I can't help if-"

"I don't want you to help, just leave me the fuck alone!" Kurt sneered. He looked down at the wreckage of his birthday cake on the floor, biting down on his lips, and shoved his chair away from the table. "God, how much of that crap did you make me eat?"

"Kurt- Robbie, I just-" Burt called, but his son had already fled the dining room, the basement door slamming shut behind him. "Kurt!"

He pushed himself up and followed him, panic wrapping around his heart in a stranglehold. He was used to Kurt's other alters, even if he didn't like them all the much. He wasn't ready for a new one. He wasn't ready to see what kind of new torture this Robbie would wreak on his little boy.

"Robbie?" Burt called as he walked down the stairs. Kurt's basement bedroom was cluttered, a lot messier than usual, a rambling combination of his childhood toys and family photographs combinde with his sleek new furniture and glossy posters of Hollywood stars. His son was nowhere to be found, but the bathroom door was shut tight, light gleaming out from under it. "Robbie, you all right?"

All he could hear was a heavy gagging, and then the sound of his son heaving the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Burt's blood ran cold. "Kurt!" he said, jiggling the handle. "Kurt, are you getting sick?" He didn't hear anything but the sound of the toilet flush. "Answer me!"

"It's a little hard to say anything when you've got your finger down your throat," Kurt retorted.

"You're making yourself throw up?" Burt said, his voice rising. He leveled his shoulder at the door and tried to shove it up, but the lock held too tight. "Open this door right now!"

Kurt threw up again, his breath catching in his throat. "Just leave me alone," he said.

"Kurt-"

"My name's Robbie, and leave me alone!"

Burt closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the door, his stomach sinking. "Fine," he said. "Fine, Robbie, I'll leave you alone. But…but I'll be upstairs if you need me, okay?"

There was no response. Burt pressed his hand to the door, as if he could somehow reach his child that way, then curled his fingers inward and tuning away with a frustrated slap to the door. Kurt didn't answer, and Burt headed slowly up the stairs, his steps heavy.

He sank down on the living room couch, his head in his hands. He couldn't do this. Not again. He'd learned to manage with the other personalities- not that he could handle them, but he'd learned to manage. But if Kurt had a new one…

Robbie. The new one was Robbie. And he was angry. And he was going to hurt Kurt.

He glanced over at the little pile of abandoned birthday presents, a faint little pang making his heart ache. Kurt would want his gifts. Robbie wouldn't care. He had to wait for Kurt to come back- and who knew when that could be?

He sat there for a long time, lost in his thoughts. The faint daylight outside faded away, leaving him in the dark, and finally he forced himself up. The kitchen was a mess from his attempt at making a birthday dinner for Kurt, and milk was still pooling on the floor under the table. It took him a few hours to clean up, putting the food away and washing the dishes and mopping up the spilled milk. He started to put the cake away, but he slammed the refrigerator door and threw it in the trash instead. Kurt clearly wasn't going to touch it, and he'd lost his appetite for it.

He heard a faint sound from the basement; he paused by the door to listen. It sounded like Kurt was crying. He closed his eyes. If it was his own son crying, he'd go down there and make sure if he was all right. If it was the new alter…he didn't dare upsetting it further.

He switched off the porch lights and double checked to make sure the door was locked. Kurt's crying was growing louder; he wondered if he should risk angering the new alter and going down there to look in on him.

He hadn't seen this coming. Kurt hadn't had a new alter emerge in ages. He thought he had just been upset. The kid had left for school all bright-eyed and beaming in the new jacket he'd bought with his birthday money, and he came home in his gym clothes. He hadn't been able to get the story out- Kurt had disappeared into the bathroom as soon as he got home and mumbled something about pee balloons, although that couldn't be right. He'd probably said something else and the roar of the shower had covered it up.

Kurt was still crying. Maybe he should go check on him. But he didn't want to take his chances. Better to just let him cry it out; he could take Kurt to his doctor tomorrow and get this straightened out. Kurt didn't need him, he needed a professional who could help him the way he deserved.

"Daddy?"

He froze. That wasn't the new alter. It didn't even sound like Kurt.

"Daddy! Daddy, please!"

It was Tyler.

Burt pulled the basement door open and ran down the stairs, his heart in his mouth. Tyler was the first alter, and the one that hurt the most. Tyler was his own little boy, trapped at eight years old, and in his mind he'd endured the car accident that killed his mother only days ago.

He ran into Kurt's room and flipped on the lights. His son was curled up in his armchair in the corner, his hands over his ears. "Daddy!" he screamed. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!"

"It's okay," Burt said, kneeling in front of the chair and wrapping his hands around Kurt's thin shoulders. "It's okay, Daddy's here."

Kurt looked up, his face red and blotchy and streaked with tears. "I had a bad dream!" he sobbed, and he flung his arms around Burt's neck, hiding his face in his chest.

"It's okay," Burt said, stroking his thick silky hair. "Sh, sh, sh, it was just a dream. You're safe."

Kurt scooted closer, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck. "I was scared," he said, "I was really scared."

"I know," Burt soothed. He picked Kurt up- he was getting too heavy to be carried, but Tyler was always begging to be held and cuddled. Kurt clung to him, rubbing his damp cheek against his shoulder, and Burt carried him over to the bed. "Put on your pajamas and go to bed."

Kurt shook his head and scooted back against the pillows, his knees curled up against his chest. "I don't want to," he said tearfully. "I'll have bad dreams again."

Burt rummaged around in Kurt's dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of soft flannel pajamas. "You'll be okay," he promised. "Come on, arms up."

Kurt obeyed, sniffling hard, and Burt tugged his tee shirt over his head. He looked so small, hunched into a little ball on his bed, his narrow chest pale and his jeans sliding down his hips. But he just looked like a small-for-his-age fifteen-year-old, not like an eight-year-old. "Come on, Ty, put your pajamas on," he coaxed. "Time for bed."

Kurt obeyed slowly, wriggling out of his jeans and tugging on his pajamas. "I can't button my shirt," he said in a small voice, wiping his running nose with the back of his hand.

Burt silently handed him a tissue and fastened the row of small buttons. Kurt blew his nose loudly and handed the tissue back to Burt. "I want Raleigh," he said. "Where's Raleigh?"

Burt threw the tissue away and paused, racking his brain. "He's, uh…I think he's in the washing machine," he said. "You got peanut butter on him, remember? I had to give him a bath."

"But…I can't sleep without Raleigh!" Kurt wailed. "Daddy, please. I won't sleep. I won't."

Burt swore under his breath and opened up the dresser drawers, digging around frantically and making a mess of Kurt's things. "Here," he said, pulling out the well-loved stuffed elephant and tossing it at him. "Here's Raleigh. You want your blanket too?"

Kurt nodded, hugging Raleigh under his arm and holding out his hand. Burt pulled out the blanket without bothering to slide the drawers back in and handed it to him. "There," he said, smoothing a hand over Kurt's hair. "You ready to sleep now?"

Kurt nodded, sliding under the covers with Raleigh under one arm and his baby blanket under the other. Burt reached beside the nightstand to plug in the nightlight- Kurt didn't care about it, but Zack and Tyler couldn't sleep without it.

"Daddy?" Kurt quavered.

He turned around. "Yeah, buddy?" he said.

"Could you snuggle with me?" Kurt whispered. "Until I fall asleep?"

Burt hesitated. "Yeah, kiddo," he said. "Scoot over." Kurt obeyed, making room in the narrow bed for him. He pulled the blankets over both of them and Kurt nestled close, tucking his head against Burt's chest.

Burt stroked Kurt's hair and kissed the top of his head. It made his heart hurt to know how sick his little boy was, to watch him fall apart. It didn't happen often, but there was always the threat of a breakdown lurking under the surface. One wrong move, one bad trigger, and something might happen. And there was always the chance that his illness might get worse. It haunted his thoughts, the idea of his child on heavy medication, or locked away in a hospital.

"Daddy, do you love me?" Kurt whispered.

"Of course," Burt said, rubbing his back.

"No matter what?"

"No matter what."

"So I'll always be your baby?"

"Yeah, you'll always be my baby, K…" Burt paused and closed his eyes tightly. "Tyler."

Apparently satisfied, his son cuddled up close, squishing his stuffed elephant between them, and began to doze off, his cheek nuzzling his soft blue blanket. Burt held him tightly, feeling the steady rise and fall of Kurt's chest as he drifted off to sleep, and prayed to every saint and angel he could think of that somehow he could have his sweet little boy back.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Uggggggh, I'm so sad now.

I am eagerly awaiting the next chapter of One in Four. Luckily the author and I are skype-besties now, so we hang outand she keeps me updated on how chapters are going. BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN. I mean, she offered, but I was like "uh...I really want to, but...I'VE BEEN FOLLOWING THIS STORY SINCE PRACTICALLY THE BEGINNING AND I NEED TO WATCH EVERYTHING UNFOLD."

I have, however, begged repeatedly for cuddles. She thinks it's cute. BUT SOMEDAY I SHALL WEAR HER DOWN AND SHE WILL PUT A NICE SNUGGLY CUDDLE SCENE SOMEWHERE IN THE STORY FOR ME.

Also, I will probably end up writing more drabbles for this 'verse, because it's amazing.

And if you haven't red it, you should.


	202. Migraine

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Sorry, sorry, I'm late," Blaine said, adjusting his tie as he darted backstage. "Sorry, my dentist appointment took longer than I thought."<p>

"Did you bite the hygienist again?" Jeff snickered, and Nick elbowed him the ribs.

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Dentists just make me nervous, okay?" he said, tugging on the hem of his blazer. "Where's Kurt?"

"Your loverboy is doing exactly what you should be doing, which is getting ready for our performance," Nick said as he steered Blaine towards the stage. "We have to nail this, Blaine, or the school board won't want to increase our funding."

"And we have to start now, or Wes will explode," Jeff added. "He's already turning that weird angry purple-y color."

"Fine, fine," Blaine said, tripping out to join the others on the risers. Wes shot him a dirty look, but Blaine just flashed his most charming smile and launched into the first number.

It was tradition for the Warblers to perform at some point for the board of trustees at the Westerville country club. Rich Dalton graduates, all of them, and they were the ones responsible for massive donations to the school. The headmaster usually enticed the Warblers to perform with the promise of some of those donations going to them, even though they did just fine thanks to Warbler alumni and the booster club. But they had lost regionals, which meant that donations would probably be smaller than the previous year, so it would probably be good to get a little extra.

They wrapped up the first number to polite applause and Blaine took his spot to start "Candles." He looked over to grin foolishly at Kurt. His brand-new boyfriend smiled back, and Blaine's heart gave a happy little leap. Kurt was so beautiful. He was so lucky.

Kurt's voice sounded marvelous as usual, sweet and clear, and he smiled at him, but there was something…off. He seemed paler than usual, and he kept squinting. Maybe he was just tired.

The song went off without a hitch and, after a nod from Wes, they started into "Raise Your Glass." Singing the solos for that one brought out all of his natural exuberance, and he bounded around the stage, leading the others in the number.

He took a sharp spin and caught a glimpse of Kurt. His boyfriend lagged behind the others, just a little bit. Only someone who knew the choreography would notice- and Blaine not only knew the choreography, he knew Kurt. Something was off.

They finished the final number to a swell of applause; the Warblers bowed politely before heading offstage. Blaine tried to acknowledge his friends' excitement, but he slipped around the others and tugged lightly on Kurt's sleeve.

Kurt jumped. "What…oh, hi," he said.

"Hi," Blaine said, leaning in to press a kiss on his forehead. He frowned. "You feel a little warm."

Kurt smiled, his lips a little clumsy. "I'm fine," he said.

"Are you sure? You seem a little…under the weather," Blaine said.

"Just a headache," Kurt said, rubbing his temples. He hesitated, biting at his lips. "A migraine, actually, but…"

David brushed past them. "Ready to go out for our celebratory dinner?" he said. "The trustees are paying, so-"

"Actually, Kurt and I are heading back to campus," Blaine said, sliding an arm around Kurt's waist. "We'll take a rain check. Get us some cheesecake to go, okay?"

"Sure," David said, giving them a funny look and clapping them both on the shoulders. "See you later, all right?"

Blaine felt Kurt sag a little bit against him. "Thanks," he said.

"Come on, I'll drive you back," Blaine said, ushering him out the back door. The bright late afternoon struck them and Kurt visibly flinched. "Whoa, whoa, are you okay?"

"Just a migraine," Kurt said through his teeth, shielding his eyes. "Light's too bright."

Blaine tucked his arm tighter around Kurt's slim waist. "Just lean on me, all right?" he said. Kurt nodded slightly, still covering his eyes.

Blaine fumbled in his pocket for his keys and unlocked the doors to his jeep. "Here, you can lie down in the back," he offered.

Kurt slid into the backseat without another word and laid down, resting his cheek on his folded hands like a child. Blaine paused, then leaned over and kissed his temple. "You'll feel better once you get back to the dorm," he said. "Try to sleep, okay?"

Kurt shrugged a little. Blaine closed the door and got into the driver's seat. The radio started blaring as soon as the key turned in the ignition and he shut it off quickly, flinching. "Sorry, I forgot about that," he said.

"It's okay," Kurt said in a small voice. "Can we just…go home?"

"Yeah, of course," he said, reaching back to squeeze his shoulder.

Blaine tried to drive as smoothly as possible, wincing every time he had to stop too soon or bounce over a pothole. He'd never had a migraine before, and but he'd had plenty of headaches, and Kurt had to be miserable.

He tried to glance in his rearview mirror to see if he was all right, but he wasn't at the right angle and he had to give up. A few times he opened his mouth to ask how he was doing, but every time he bit his tongue. Kurt was probably asleep. He didn't need to wake him up.

He pulled into his usual spot behind the dorm and parked. "Okay, Kurt, we're here," he said, pulling back the emergency brake. "Are you-"

"Blaine, I…I threw up."

Blaine twisted around in his seat. "You what?" he stammered.

Kurt hunched in his seat, distinctly green around the mouth. "I threw up," he whispered. "I'm…I'm sorry, I-"

"I didn't even hear you do it," Blaine said stupidly.

"I know, I know…my dad calls me a stealth puker…I'm so sorry, Blaine, I just-"

Blaine slid out of the front seat and crossed around to the back. He yanked the door open to find his boyfriend huddling in the corner, covering his mouth with his hands. "Kurt, it's okay, you're…oh my god, are you crying?'

Kurt swiped at his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just…I don't mean to cry, it's just…do you want to break up with me now or later?" he said, his voice wobbling.

"Never," Blaine said firmly, pulling him to a tight hug. He smoothed Kurt's hair. "You just don't feel good. It happens. It's not like you did it on purpose."

Kurt pressed his cheek to his shoulder. "I'll clean it up," he mumbled.

"No, you're going to go lie down until you feel better," Blaine said, tugging him out of the car. "Do you need me to carry you?"

Kurt wobbled unsteadily on his feet. "'mokay, I can walk," he said.

But Blaine had to support his weight as they crossed the parking lot, and by the time they reached the back stairs, he was half-carrying Kurt, his arm tight around his waist. Kurt was completely unsteady on his feet, clutching at Blaine's sleeves to keep upright.

"There, go lie down," Blaine said, nudging the dorm room door open.

"This's your room," Kurt mumbled, ducking his head and flinching as the lights switched on. "Why're we in your room?"

"Because I don't want you in your own room where I can't keep an eye on you," Blaine said, helping him down on the bed. "I'll go to your dorm and grab whatever you need. You just lie down, okay?"

Kurt closed his eyes. "There's Excedrin Migraine in my medicine chest…" he said, covering his eyes with his forearm. "That's all I really need right now, I guess."

Blaine smoothed Kurt's hair and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose. "I'll be right back," he promised.

It didn't take long to run down to Kurt's room and find the medicine, but he paused long enough to pick out a pair of pajamas from the top drawer of his dresser. Kurt's room was painstakingly clean, but the walls were lavishly decorated with photographs of friends and family. If he had a little more time, he would totally snoop, but he didn't want to linger and leave Kurt alone too long.

He went back up his room and peeked inside. "Hey, I'm back," he said. Kurt was still in the same position he'd left him, flat on his back with his arm over his eyes. Blaine quickly switched off the overhead light. "Are you all right? Did you puke again?"

"No, but I'm tempted," Kurt sighed.

Blaine unbuttoned Kurt's blazer. "Well, if you change out of your uniform, I'll get you a glass of water so you can take your medicine," he said.

"You're a saint," Kurt said, wrestling with his tie. Blaine looked away, ducking his head as Kurt started to slide out of his shirt. They'd only been dating for two weeks- they hadn't really gotten very far on the whole physical thing.

He tipped out two round pills and rummaged around in his minifridge for a chilled bottle of water before clearing his throat. "You, uh…are you dressed?"

"Uh-huh."

He turned around to find Kurt curled up on his bed, barefoot and dressed in his pajamas. Blaine slid the pills into his cupped palm and twisted the cap off the bottle. "Here," he said.

Kurt took the medication and sipped at the water before closing his eyes and leaning back against the pillows. "Thank you," he sighed.

Blaine closed the blinds, shutting out the afternoon sunlight, and picked up a blanket. "Is there anything else you need?" he worried.

"No, I'm fine," Kurt murmured. "I'm just going to take a nap."

Blaine draped the blanket around him and kissed his warm cheek. "Get some sleep," he said. He hesitated, because he was about to blurt out _I love you_, but two weeks of dating was probably too soon for that. "I'll stay with you, okay? After…after I clean out my car."

Kurt winced. "Sorry," he said.

"It's okay," Blaine said, brushing Kurt's silky hair away from his forehead and kissing him lightly. "I'll check on you soon."

Kurt smiled, his eyes closed, and Blaine's heart gave a sentimental little leap.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I need to put in a disclaimer somewhere like "Hi, I'm Caitlin, I like kittens and I write about throwup a lot."

I CAN'T HELP IT. WHEN PEOPLE PROMPT SICKFICS...I HAVE TO WRITE THEM! I JUST LOVE THEM SO MUCH! IF KURT BARFS, I AM THERE!

Also, I made another reference to Blaine being afraid of the dentist (way earlier in this drabble series), and also about Kurt being a stealth puker.

My headcanon is that when he was little, he hated making his dad missing work to take care of him or worrying about finding Kurt a babysitter for the day, so Kurt just learned how to throw up without making a sound, so Burt wouldn't know he was sick.

THERE'S YOUR SAD FOR THE MORNING.


	203. Wedding Day

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"I don't know why I agreed to do a first look," Blaine worried. "It's not tradition."<p>

"Yes, but Kurt wanted it," Cooper said. "Stop it. Stop it! I'm just trying to fix your tie."

Blaine bounced up on his toes. "My tie is fine," he said, batting his older brother's hands away. "Where's Francey?"

"Trying to get Zach in his suit," Cooper said. "You know how that kid squirms. He gets it from his Uncle Blaine. Hold still!"

"I can't hold still," Blaine said, turning away and pacing up and down the room. "I'm getting married, Cooper. I'm getting married in an hour and I don't know what to do with myself."

"You'll be fine, squirt," Cooper said. He sat down on the bench at the foot of the bed, crossing one leg over the other. "You and Kurt have basically been married since you started dating. This is just a formality."

"Yes, but a huge formality," Blaine argued. "We'll be _married. _He'll be my _husband. _This is…this is serious. I don't know…I don't know if…"

"If what?" Francey asked, shoving the door open with her elbow as she hauled her squirming toddler into the room. "Blaine, if you weren't my favorite brother, there is no way I would have gone through with stuffing Zachary into a tux." She set the little boy on the floor and gave him an affectionate pat on the bottom. "Go, my little devil spawn. Go play." She straightened and frowned. "Why are you panicking?"

"I'm not panicking!" Blaine protested.

"Oh, he's panicking," Cooper said, scooping his young nephew up as Zach crawled onto his knees. "He said something about 'I don't know' and then you interrupted."

Francey sat down on the edge of the bed. "What don't you know?" she asked.

Blaine sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know if I'm good enough," he said quietly. "I don't know why he picked me."

Francey smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in the peacock-blue sash of her floor-length white dress. "Tell me this," she said. "Who danced with Kurt at junior prom when his school tried to humiliate him?"

Blaine blinked. "Me," he said.

"Who took a rock salt slushie in the face for him?" Francey continued.

"I did."

"When Kurt didn't get into NYADA, who encouraged him to apply for the Vogue internship?" Cooper cut in.

"Me, but I-"

Francey reached over and took Blaine's hands. "You've always been there for him," she said, squeezing his hands. "And he's always been there for you. Kurt loves you, Blaine. And he knows you love him."

"Today is you telling the whole world that you love each other," Cooper said quietly. "Putting that ring on his finger is like telling everyone that you're completely committed to him, and no one else."

"And, also…that you liked it, so you put a ring on it," Francey said solemnly. Blaine snorted and Cooper elbowed her in the side.

"You just ruined the moment!" Cooper scolded.

"Oh, come on, I'm hilarious," Francey snickered. She tugged Blaine to sit on her lap and blew a raspberry on his cheek. "I can't believe my little Babbie is getting married. Holy shit. You make me feel old."

"Ho' shit!" Zachary echoed cheerfully, leaning over to pat his uncle on the cheek. Blaine grinned and gave his little nephew an Eskimo kiss.

Someone knocked lightly on the door. "Hey, Blaine," Finn said, grinning from ear to ear. "According to Kurt's itinerary, you're supposed to meet him in the courtyard for the first look pictures."

Francey stood up and tugged Blaine to his feet. "Come on, kid," she said. "Go see your almost-husband."

* * *

><p>"I'm going to pass out," Kurt said faintly.<p>

"That's because your tie is too tight," Lucy said. She made him sit down and plucked lightly at the knot, then patted his cheek. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

"Maybe twenty minutes?" Kurt offered.

Rachel looked pained. "No wonder you're so highstrung," she said. "I slept a full nine hours before my wedding."

"And you were as mellow and laidback as an electrocuted chicken," Kurt snorted. Rachel smacked his arm. "Ow! You can't hit me, I'm the groom." He sighed. "Oh, god, seriously, I'm going to pass out."

"When's the last time you had something to eat?" Lucy asked.

"Um…I had some pineapple for breakfast, I think…"

Lucy scowled. "What would you do without me?" she said, crossing to the dresser and rummaging in her purse. She pulled out a bag of mini rice cakes and waved it victoriously. "I'm the greatest best man ever. Open your mouth."

"What-" Kurt started to ask, but Lucy popped a rice cake in his mouth and held his lips shut.

"Chew," she said sternly. He obeyed.

"So are you excited?" Rachel asked eagerly. She rested her chin on the back of her chair. "You look excited."

"I think I'm excited," Kurt said. "I don't know. I'm too stressed to be excited."

"Don't be stressed," Lucy said, feeding him another rice cake. "This is going to be an absolutely beautiful wedding."

"I think I made it too much my wedding and not enough Blaine's," Kurt said. "I just got so excited over planning everything…I don't think I included him enough. I don't want him to look back and feel like he didn't have any say over the biggest day of our lives."

"Oh, honey," Lucy sighed. She sat down next to Kurt and clasped his hand. "Remember two months ago, when the florist said they thought you wanted chrysanthemums instead of baby's breath and you locked yourself in your room and cried?"

Kurt flushed red. "I try not to think about that," he said.

"Everyone does that when they're planning a wedding," Rachel said, flapping their hands dismissively. "They sent me baby pink tablecloths instead of blush pink and I had a full out temper tantrum."

"Well, Blaine called me in a panic because you were so upset and he didn't know how to help you," Lucy said.

"But he did help," Kurt said, perplexed. "He found another florist for a better price, and the flowers are perfect."

"Yes, well, before that," Lucy said. "We were talking about how stressed you were over this wedding. And do you know what he said to me?" Kurt shook his head. Lucy smiled and stroked a lock of hair away from his forehead. "He said he didn't care if you got married in a Walmart parking lot with nothing but a boom box and plastic ring. He just wanted to be married to you."

Kurt smiled a little. Lucy leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You two are going to be so happy," she promised.

Finn stuck his head in the room. "Hey, everybody," he said. "I just sent Blaine down to the courtyard to wait for you. It's time for the first look picture thing."

"Oh my god," Kurt said, biting on his knuckle. Lucy tugged his hand away from his mouth and linked her fingers through his.

"Come on," she said. "Before you give yourself a stress-induced heart attack."

Kurt held her hand tightly as they walked down the hall, Finn flanking him on the other side. They'd picked the perfect venue for their December wedding, a beautiful historical mansion in the heart of the city, and he'd known from their first tour of the place that he wanted to do their first look pictures in the courtyard.

The glass-walled courtyard was tucked away in the back of the mansion, warmly lit with soft antique brass fixtures that spread a gentle glow over the marble floor. Beautiful flowers lined the walls, filling the room with a soft pretty scent. And in the middle of the room, with his back to them, was Blaine.

Kurt halted. Finn gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Go get 'im, tiger," he said.

Kurt dropped Lucy's hand and took a slight step forward. He was painfully aware of everything around him- the tap of his shoes on the floor in the silence, his brother and Lucy watching him closely, the tug of his tie around his suddenly-hot neck.

He touched Blaine's hand tentatively, his fingers curling around his, and Blaine turned around.

"Hi," Kurt whispered.

"Hi," Blaine whispered back.

They got their wedding photos a month later, and made a big deal out of looking through the black-bound album for the first time, cuddled up together on their couch with a bottle of wine. The pictures were all beautiful, but they agreed that the first look ones were the best. They were the most honest- their eyes locked only on each other, their wide smiles, the hint of happy tears. The way Blaine's hand cupped Kurt's cheek, the way Kurt's hands pressed against Blaine's back. The photographer had even snapped a few pictures of their small audience- Lucy clinging to Finn's arm as he grinned broadly at them, Cooper and Francey flashing their wide smiles and thumbs-up at the camera.

Their favorite picture they had enlarged and framed. It was a simple picture- the two of them embracing, Kurt's arms around Blaine's neck and Blaine's hands on Kurt's waist, their foreheads touching, their smiles so wide it was nearly painful. The photo hung in the living room of their cozy first apartment, then their penthouse downtown, then over the mantel in the brownstone they bought on the outskirts of the city when they decided the kids needed a yard to play in. When their oldest child went off to college, she took a smaller copy of the photo with her to hang in her dorm room. And no matter where they went or what they did or how old they got, they kept that picture, just as a reminder of how some things could never change.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Because I think we all need some schmoopy fluffy kissy stuff.

***IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE BREAK-UP, DON'T READ AHEAD***

You know what? You know what? I think it's going to be okay. They never outright said "we're breaking up." Blaine clearly still loves Kurt. Kurt still clearly loves Blaine. But Blaine _fucked up big time _and he knows that, and Kurt is deeply, deeply hurt, and Blaine knows that too. It's going to take some time.

But our boys are going to be okay.

Now I'm just eagerly awaiting when that moment hits, and they fall in love with each other all over again.

In the meantime, I'm going to write all the happy schmoopy sweet Klaine things. GO TO MY TUMBLR AND PROMPT AWAY!


	204. Terrible Things

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"What are you writing?"<p>

Mollie slammed the lid of the box shut. "Burt!" she gasped. "You scared me."

"Sorry," he said, bending to kiss the top of her bright head. "How're you feeling?"

"All right, I suppose," she lied. She twisted around in her chair to face him. "How was work?"

He launched into a story about an air conditioner repair gone wrong, and she quickly picked up the box, twisted the key in the lock, and stowed it in the kitchen cabinet next to the Pyrex bowls. The key on its little pink ribbon went back around her neck and she tucked under the neckline of her dress.

Burt sank down at the kitchen table. "I'm beat," he said. "What do you want to do for dinner tonight? Are you up to making it, or should I do it, or-"

"I'm not going to let you make dinner tonight," she said, grinning. "I don't think Kurt will be able to stomach yet another night of pancakes."

"It's the only thing I know how to make," he protested. "You're the chef in this family."

Her throat tightened. "Well, maybe I'd better teach you a few things," she said lightly, leaning back against the sink.

Burt just looked at her then, that level-headed "don't pull this crap with me" gaze. "We're not going to lose you, Mollie," he said quietly.

She tried to smile. He reached out and took her slim hands- bony now from how much weight she'd lost- and squeezed them in his big callused fingers. "I love you," she said.

He stood up and kissed her on the forehead. "Love you too," he said. He took a step back and squeezed her hands. "So what're we going to do for dinner, huh? Maybe I should go out and grab something."

Suddenly little footsteps echoed on the stairs. "Daddy!" Kurt shrieked, running into the kitchen and flinging himself into his father's arms. "Daddy's home!"

Burt caught him easily, swooping him up into the air. "Hey, scooter," he said. He settled Kurt on his hip and kissed him on the cheek. "How was school today?"

"Boring," Kurt huffed, draping himself over Burt's broad shoulder. "So boring. We learned about the Specific Ocean."

"The Pacific Ocean, baby," Mollie corrected, smoothing his flyaway hair.

Kurt tugged on the collar of Burt's shirt. "Did you say we're gonna go out to dinner?" he said. "Can we get pizza? Can we, can we, can we?"

Burt looked over Kurt's head at his wife. "Why not?" she said. Kurt cheered happily and shimmied down Burt's legs. "Kurt, you stay with me and help me set the table, okay?"

"Okay," he said, already pulling out the drawer with the silverware.

Burt kissed Mollie on the cheek. "I'll be back in a little bit, then," he said. "Anything in particular you want?"

"No, not really," she said. "Come home safe."

"I will," he called on his way out the door.

Mollie watched Kurt busily set the table, frowning in concentration as he folded the napkins in perfect triangles. She paused to hug him, wrapping her arms around his little shoulder and kissing his soft round cheek.

"Mommy, I'm working," Kurt complained.

"Oh, so sorry," she grinned, kissing the top of his head. She crossed over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bag of lettuce. "Baby, can you do me a favor? Can you get the big glass salad bowl out of the cabinet for me, please?"

"Sure, Mommy," he said, pausing in his work to obey. Mollie rummaged around in the fridge for a bag of carrots. "Ooh, Mommy, what's this? It's pretty!"

She froze. "Honey, put that back," she said.

"But it has my name on it," he said, sounding pleased. She turned around to see him holding the box in his hands, tugging on the lid. "It won't open, Mommy."

She sank down in the kitchen chair. "KK, come here," she said softly. He obeyed slowly, still focused on prying the lid open. She lifted him on her lap- he was still small for his age, and still liked to be cuddled. "Honey, that's for….for later."

"Like my birthday?" Kurt brightened.

"No, not for your birthday," Mollie said, brushing his hair back from his forehead. She had a whole stockpile of presents for his eighth birthday, coming up in two months…and several presents saved up for Burt to give him for the next dozen or so birthdays. "Honey, those are…those are letters."

Kurt frowned. "For me?" he said. He shook the box. "I want them now, Mommy."

She adjusted him on her lap, pulling him a little closer, a little tighter. "They're not for right now," she said softly. "They're for later. For when you turn nine, and ten, and…all those birthdays." She cradled him close like he was still her little baby; he squirmed a little in her too-tight grip. "And for when you start high school, and when you get your first kiss. Your first job. When you go to college. All the big things."

Kurt frowned. "But Mommy, that's really far away," he said. "I want them now." He plucked at the lid. "Who wrote the letters to me?"

"I did," she said. "Just in case…I'm not here for all those special days."

Kurt dropped the box, letting it clatter to the floor, and wriggled around in her embrace until he was facing her, his arms tight around her neck. "Where are you going?" he demanded, equal parts angry and alarmed. "Are you going away?"

"I don't…I don't know," she said. She cupped his chin in her hand and pressed a kiss to the corner of his pouting little mouth. "I don't know, precious, but that's why I'm writing the letters. It's just in case."

Kurt hugged her tightly, burying his face in her shoulder. "I don't want you to go," he said. "Please don't go, Mommy. Don't go."

She hugged him back, her throat painfully tight, and rocked him gently. He hid his face from her, and she was glad. She didn't want him to see her cry.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****ALL THE SAD FEELINGS.

I had the idea that Mollie would prepare for her death in some kind of way. Burt was in pretty deep denial about how sick she was, but she knew, and she knew she had to do something to take care of her baby when she was gone. So imagine that she wrote a whole series of letters for him, for all those special times she would miss- his birthdays, his middle school and high school and college graduations, his first kiss, his first heartbreak, his engagement, his wedding day, the birth of his first child. And I bet she picked out and wrapped presents for him, for his birthdays and Christmases and things like that.

And Burt kept everything hidden away from Kurt, and would surprise him with letters and presents on the right times, like clockwork, and while he didn't read the notes or anything, he would sometimes just open the storage boxes and touch the beautifully wrapped presents and trace his wife's handwriting on the envelopes.

Ohhhhh, and Blaine's reaction would be ladjflkdsjfldsjfdsfds.

I can't even verbalize.

But yeah! If you have anything you'd like to prompt about this, go to my askbox on tumblr! Not here! Here is a black hole of lost prompts! And also marvelous reviews, because between Sarah, Truffles, Andrew, and Finchelette, I owe a lot of people a lot of snuggles.

Also, while I'm on this track of conversation, I just want to thank every single one of you for reading all of my babbling, whether you've reviewed or not. It just makes me so happy to know that people enjoy this, and that I can brighten y'all's mornings, and you guys need to know that you all make me very, very happy and encouraged. :)


	205. Wet 'n' Wild

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Honey, you missed a spot!" Kurt called.<p>

"Come get it yourself," Blaine grunted as he hefted a rock out of the way.

"Blaine, my love, if you haven't figured it out by now, I was not designed for yard work," Kurt said, rocking lazily back and forth on the porch hammock. "Wrangling pleather on a standard issue sewing machine, yes. Replacing an engine block, yes. Doing manual labor in the burning sun…not on your life."

Blaine stood up and sighed, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm. "So why did you invite yourself over?" he asked

"Because," Kurt said, sliding his Ray-Bans down his nose. "I am _enjoying the view, _if you catch my drift."

Blaine shifted his weight as his boyfriend eyed him up and down. "You mean…you just came over to see me shirtless?" he said.

"You look good in nothing but a pair of shorts," Kurt admitted. "And besides, the whole…abs glistening with sweat thing. I like it." He scooted back in the hammock. "As long as you don't come too close. I love you, honey, but you're sweaty and you smell."

"Gee, thanks," Blaine snorted.

Kurt slid his sunglasses back up and flipped a page in his magazine. "I'll sit here and admire, and when you're done, you can take a shower, we'll go out to dinner, and then we can have some of the fun I've been imagining all afternoon," he said, smirking wickedly

"You are…the most frustrating human being ever," Blaine sputtered. "That's not fair."

"Go on," Kurt said, unruffled. "I understand you have a garden to water."

Blaine stomped towards the spigot, muttering under his breath. "Silly boyfriend, getting me all worked up like that," he mumbled. He hooked up the hose and switched on the water. "Promising me sex, and making me wait. Not fair. He won't even help me with this. Not fair at all."

He stormed over to the flowerbeds, turning on the hose. Kurt was still lounging in the hammock, his long bare legs stretched out. Today he was wearing seersucker striped shorts and a slim-fitting collared shirt, the crisp white linen smooth over his chest. Blaine paused, a wicked grin spreading across his face, and inched a little closer.

Kurt was so caught up in his magazine that he didn't notice Blaine's approach until he was right in front of him. "Aha!" Blaine cheered, and he turned the hose on full-force.

Kurt shrieked, tumbling out of the hammock. His magazine fluttered down beside him, the glossy pages quickly soaking up water. "Blaine Anderson!" he shouted. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Revenge!" Blaine laughed, spraying Kurt generously with water.

"Stop it, I'm wet!" Kurt howled, waving his arms blindly in front of him. "Turn the water off!"

Blaine obeyed and Kurt spluttered helplessly. "What on earth was that for?" he gasped, rubbing his eyes.

Blaine looked Kurt up and down, admiring the way the soaked shirt clung to the outlines of his chest and stomach and the transparency of his shorts. "Now we're even," he said. "You get to watch me do yard work with my shirt off…and I get to see you when you're soaking wet."

Kurt stared at him, mouth agape, and then flung himself at him, kissing Blaine hungrily and forcing him down on the ground till he was straddling his hips. "I really ought to be mad at you," he gasped.

"Shut up and kiss me," Blaine said, digging his hands into the wet waistband of Kurt's shorts.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****HEY LOOK I COCKBLOCKED MYSELF AGAIN.


	206. Kurt Still Hates Needles

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt closed his eyes. "I can't do this," he mumbled as the state-sent nurse ushered another student into the back room. "I can't do this. I can't."<p>

He leaned over, resting his forehead on his knees. Finn rubbed his back. "Sure you can," he encouraged. "You'll be fine."

"Needles make me throw up, Finn. Throw up or faint. When I was nine…both."

Finn massaged the knots in Kurt's spine. "Geez, you're tense," he said.

"I didn't get any sleep last night," he said into his knees. "Finn, I'm going to throw up."

"No, you're not," Finn said. "You'll be fine." He kept rubbing his hand up and down Kurt's narrow back. "We'll get this over with, and we'll go to glee, and then we'll go out to dinner and the mall like Dad promised you."

"Not promised," Kurt corrected. "It's a bribe. I am seventeen years old, and my father had to bribe me to get shots."

"Why do you hate them so much, anyway?" Finn asked.

Kurt was silent for a moment.

"The first time I went to the doctor after my mom died…I went by myself," Kurt said. "I was eight. I had to get a physical before third grade started." He took a deep shuddering breath. "Dad sent me off to the back and sat in the waiting room reading a magazine. He'd…he'd never had to the doctor's appointments before. My mom almost took me."

He fell silent again. Finn patted his back, waiting patiently. "They were going to take blood," Kurt said. "The nurse stuck it in and then was like 'whoops, missed.' So she didn't even wait, she just yanked it out and jabbed it in my elbow again."

Finn winced. "Ugh, that's gross," he said.

"Tell me about it," Kurt said grimly. "And it hurt, too."

"And then…" Finn prompted.

"So I'm already freaking out," Kurt continued. "And then…this stupid nurse goes 'all right, Kurt, watch the blood going up the tube'." He looked up. "Don't make me say what happened."

Finn grinned. "What happened?" he asked.

"Everything," Kurt said grimly. "Started crying, threw up, passed out…might've wet my pants, I don't know, it's all kind of a blur. My elbow was black and blue for two weeks, and I've never been able to deal with needles since. My dad has to go to the doctor with me and tell them I have to lie down, and then he has to hold my hand. It's embarrassing."

"It's not that bad," Finn said. "Unless, you know…you wet your pants again." Kurt snorted. "You want me to go back there with you?"

Kurt glanced up at him. "No offense, but you're not exactly the most…comforting presence," he said. He rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, mumbling something into his hands.

Finn leaned closer. "What was that?" he said.

"I want Blaine," Kurt said through his hands, his voice muffled.

The nurse walked back out, clipboard in hand. "Kurt Hummel?" she said brusquely.

Kurt started visibly. "Oh god," he said. He grabbed onto Finn's arm. "I'm going to throw up."

"You'll be fine," Finn said.

"No, no, I'm not," Kurt whimpered. He dug his fingers into Finn's bicep, making him wince. "Don't make me do it. Please. I'm not afraid to beg."

Finn prodded him gently towards the nurse. "You'll be fine," he said. He leaned over and kissed the top of his head. "I'll see you in a few minutes, okay? You'll be fine."

"No, I won't," Kurt said. The nurse took him firmly by the shoulder; he glanced back and looked pleadingly at Finn. "Finn?"

Finn just smiled apologetically and flashed a supportive thumbs-up before the door closed behind him. "Sit there," the nurse said, pointing to an empty chair and sitting down to prepare the shots.

Kurt hesitated. "Um," he said, twisting his fingers together. "Um, I have a tendency to faint during these kinds of procedures, so I was wondering if I could maybe lie down?"

"Sit," she said without looking up.

"But I-"

"We don't have a space for you to lie down. Sit."

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I have a phobia of needles-" he began, his voice small and pathetic in his own ears.

"Honey, I have forty more kids to go through today," she said. "Just sit down and get it over with. It's just three little shots."

Kurt sat down before his shaking legs could fold underneath him. Three little shots might as well have been an hour in a torture chamber. He watched, horrified, as the nurse prepared the syringes. "Please, I could just lie down…"

She didn't answer, swiftly setting out the three shots. Kurt closed his eyes and held on tight to the arms of the chair. He could still clearly see the long sharp needles in his mind's eyes.

The nurse took him by the wrist, rolled up his sleeve, and swabbed his upper arm with an alcohol patch. "This'll be a little cold," she said automatically.

He winced. It felt like someone had shoved his arm in a freezer. Goosebumps erupted over his skin. "I'm going to throw up," he said faintly.

"It happens," she said. "There's a trashcan right next to your chair if you need it."

Kurt pressed his lips together. _You are seventeen, _he told himself. _You are a senior in high school. You can do this. You can. Just suck it up, Hummel._

The door tapped open. "Hi, I'm sorry to interrupt," Blaine said, offering the nurse his most charming, winning, Dalton-approved smile. "I was wondering if I could stay with Kurt while he got his shots? He gets a little nervous and we're…um, best friends."

The nurse sized him up and softened a little at Blaine's sweet smile. "As long as you don't get in my way," she warned.

"I won't," Blaine promised.

The nurse turned around to get the injections together. Blaine leaned over to hug Kurt and Kurt clung to him desperately. "Oh my god, Blaine," he whimpered into his shoulder. Blaine cupped a hand around his neck and kissed him right behind his ear. "Oh my god, I feel like an idiot, but I really hate this."

"It's okay," Blaine whispered back, kneeling beside him and placing his hand on his knee. "It'll just take a second. And I'm right here." He leaned up and kissed his cheek swiftly. "I won't let anything bad happen to you, okay?"

Kurt nodded helplessly, squeezing his hand as tight as he could. The nurse walked over with the small tray. "You're going to feel a little stick," she warned, picking up the first syringe.

Kurt whipped around to look at Blaine. _I'm going to die, _he mouthed.

Blaine smiled at him and took his hand, linking their fingers together. "Just look at me," he whispered. "It's okay. I won't let anything bad happen to you."

The first needle pieced his skin. Kurt flinched and dug his fingernails desperately into Blaine's hand. "It's okay, it's okay," Blaine soothed. Kurt leaned in till their foreheads touched; Blaine reached up and tangled his fingers in his thick silky hair. "It's okay, baby."

"All right, that's the first one," the nurse said, brushing at his arm with a cotton ball.

"I'm going to throw up," Kurt whispered. "Oh my god. I'm so dizzy. I'm gonna throw up."

"Just close your eyes and hold my hand," Blaine coaxed. "It's okay."

"Another little stick," the nurse said as she jabbed the second shot into his arm. Kurt cried out and immediately bit down hard on his lip to stop the sound.

"Stop, please," he begged. His vision swam in dizzy circles. "Make it stop."

"We're almost done," Blaine crooned, stroking his hair. "Hold on just a little longer. Hold onto me."

"Last one," the nurse said, and everything went black.

He opened his eyes what felt like a second later to see his brother kneeling over him. Someone was still stroking his hair, and a cool wet cloth was draped over his forehead. Kurt frowned. "Finn?" he mumbled, his tongue thick and clumsy.

"Are you back with us?" Finn asked anxiously. "Quick, what's your middle name?"

Kurt's frown deepened. "Elijah?" he said hoarsely.

"Hey, there you are," Finn said, relieved. He squeezed Kurt's side. "It's okay. Don't freak out."

"Wha' happened?" he asked, squinting.

"You passed out," Blaine said. Kurt blinked, realizing that it was Blaine's gentle hand stroking his hair, and that his head was resting on his boyfriend's knees. "You've been fading in and out for a few minutes. Do you remember?"

Kurt shook his head and instantly regretted it. "I don't feel good," he moaned, the corners of his eyes prickling with hot shameful tears.

"Dad's coming to get you," Finn reassured him. "You're going home for the rest of the day. And your shots are all done, so you don't have to worry about them anymore."

Kurt squirmed a little, realizing suddenly that his chest was bare and his lower back was resting against the cold tile floor. "Where's my shirt?" he asked. He paled. "Did I-"

"Just a little bit," Blaine said. "You didn't eat too much today, did you?"

"No," Kurt said, covering his eyes with his hands. "Oh my god, this is so embarrassing…"

"Aw, everybody pukes at school at some point," Finn shrugged.

"Finn. This is like…my tenth time. Isn't my quota full by now?"

"Well, it's the first time you've puked during senior year," Finn offered helpfully. "And at least you didn't wet your pants."

"That's not very helpful," Kurt grumbled.

"Stop fussing," Blaine chided gently. He leaned over and kissed Kurt's clammy forehead. "Just lie still. Your dad will be here soon, okay?"

Kurt closed his eyes. Blaine kept stroking his hair in a soothing rhythm, and gradually the tension in his chest began to subside.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Here, have some super snuggly sickfic fluff.

This is really ridiculous, even for me. But...but this was a prompt fill, so people wanted to read it, right?

Well, for everyone still weepy over the Break-Up (like me), here's some snuggles. Yay.


	207. Sleepwalking is Dangerous

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt flinched as something echoed on the stairs. "Kurt," he called wearily. "I thought I told you to go to bed two hours ago." He rubbed his forehead and took another sip of his soda, the television blurring in front of him. "Stop playing and go to bed."<p>

Suddenly a high-pitched scream brought him to his feet. He ran down the hall and stopped dead in his tracks at the foot of the stairs. His small son, barely eight years old, was crumpled on the floor like a little broken doll.

"Kurt!" he shouted, falling on his knees beside him. His hands shook as he reached out to touch the sides of his little boy's neck. He'd only buried his wife a week ago- he couldn't bury his baby too.

Kurt's pulse under his fingertips was rabbit-fast and he blew out a sigh of relief. Gently he turned him over onto his back, supporting his neck. Kurt flinched, flinging one arm over his face and letting out another strangled cry. There was a huge knot on his forehead, brilliant red and already swelling.

Kurt tried to roll away from Burt's grip. "Mm…gah…" he said, thumping weakly at his father's hands. "Le'…go…"

His blue eyes were open but hazy, and for a terrifying second Burt thought that Kurt had lost his mind. But Kurt stuck his thumb in his mouth, still mumbling nonsense, and with a start he realized that Kurt was sleepwalking.

"Oh my god," he said. "Oh god. Okay. Okay, bud. Daddy's got you."

He scooped Kurt up carefully and carried him into the kitchen, his tiny birdlike legs dangling over his arm. Kurt wailed again, a mournful keening sound. Burt adjusted him against his chest and rummaged one-handed through the nearly empty freezer until he pulled out the little icepack that Mollie had kept for Kurt since he took his first steps and immediately fell over. The rabbit-shaped pack had comforted Kurt through dozens of babyhood injuries, real or imagined. Burt pressed it against the rising lump on the little boy's forehead.

"Here, kiddo, now you've got boo-boo bunny," he said, kissing the top of his head. "That better?"

"Mm," Kurt murmured. "Mm…ee."

He wriggled in Burt's grip, as if he was still trying to escape and wander around the house. Burt pulled him tight against his chest, holding the icepack to his forehead, and carried him up the stairs to his bedroom. His bed was unmade, his clothes and toys scattered everywhere, as if he had ransacked his closet and dresser in search of something he couldn't find.

Burt sat down on the edge of Kurt's bed and turned on the bedside lamp. His heart sank. The past week and a half since his mother's death had taken a definite toll on the child. His eyes were sunken and ringed with shadows; his soft skin- pale and rosy-cheeked like his mother's- was sallow and waxy. With a sudden pang of guilt, Burt tried to remember the last time he'd seen the little boy eat more than a few bites in a single meal.

He picked up Kurt's soft blue blanket and wrapped it around him, swaddling him like Mollie used to when he was just their fussy little preemie. Kurt seemed so small and skeletal, his rocket-print pajama tee and shorts hanging on his slim frame. Burt swaddled the blankets tighter and cradled Kurt into his chest.

"What were you looking for, scooter?" he murmured, rocking him gently back and forth. "Tell Daddy what's wrong."

Kurt screwed up his face. "Mommy," he said clear and plaintive. "Want…Mommy. Where's Mommy?"

Burt's eyes burned. "Mommy's not here," he choked. "Just me."

Kurt began to cry, thin and weak and heartbreaking. Burt leaned back on the bed, pulling Kurt down to rest against him in his little blanket-wrapped bundle. Kurt still cried, but he reached up and took hold of Burt's collar, pressing his hand as close as he could to the warm comfort of his father's solidity.

Burt held him tight, stroking his back up and down and shushing him rhythmically. Slowly Kurt's sobs died away and Burt realized he was asleep, really asleep.

But he couldn't bear to separate himself from his child, and so he spent the night in Kurt's narrow bed, unable to sleep, cradling Kurt close and watching his baby's chest rise and fall as he slept.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Angst angst angst angst...

Sometimes I get prompts that make my heart skip a beat. This was one of them. Ugh, it just makes me so sad to think about.

BUT NOW I'M HAPPY BECAUSE KIVRIN IS IN TOWN AND WE'RE GOING TO GET UP TO ALL SORTS OF HIJINKS TODAY! HURRAY!


	208. Blaine Fears the Childcatcher

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"But Mama," Blaine begged, tugging on his mother's arm.<p>

"No buts, Blaine. We have to go."

Blaine pouted, crossing his arms and sticking out his lower lip as far as it could go. "But I want it now!" he whined. He rose up on his toes and tried to pull the toy down from the shelf. "I want it, Mama!"

"No toys today, Blaine. Come on, we have to go."

"But-" Blaine started to complain.

Francey leaned over and cupped her hands around his ears. "If you don't stop being a brat, the child-catcher's gonna come get you," she whispered loudly, and then she skipped away to follow their mother.

Blaine froze. He'd had nightmares about the child-catcher ever since their stupid babysitter Rosalyn had made them watch Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, but it had never dawned on him that the child-catcher might actually come and take him away.

He skirted closer to the shelf, glancing around the corner. There was no sign of the creepy man or his equally creepy cart-cage, but he had to be sure.

He glanced back up the aisle, preparing to make a mad dash back to the safety of his mother, but she was gone.

"Mama?" he called. He took a tentative step forward, clinging to the edge of the shelf. "Mama! I'm over here! Come get me!"

A red shopping cart rolled by and he perked up, but someone else's mother was pushing it. He gulped. "Mama!" he called. "Francey! Mama! Francey!"

A bell jangled, charming and noisy, and Blaine let out a terrified shriek and ran in the opposite direction. He rounded a corner from the toy section into electronics and rammed straight into someone's legs.

"Oh, there you are, Blaine," his sixteen-year-old half-brother said. "Your mom sent me to go find you."

"Cooper!" Blaine shrieked, and he leaped up, grabbing onto Cooper and clambering up his legs like a monkey in a tree.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, squirt, why're you freaking out?" Cooper asked. "Okay, stop squirming. I got you."

Blaine latched onto Cooper's neck. "The child-catcher's coming for me!" he shouted. "Don't let him get me, Coop! Don't let him get me! Tell Mama I'll be good and I'll stop asking for toys and stuff!"

Cooper frowned. "Has Francey been giving you Red Bull again?" he asked.

"No! Francey said the child-catcher's gonna get me!" Blaine said. He burst into tears. "I'll be good, Coop! I'll be good!'

Cooper frowned. "What are you talking about, Blainey?" he asked.

Blaine blubbered into his big brother's shoulder. Cooper listened, frowning as he tried to make sense of his hysterical babble. "So the scary guy from the movie is going to come get you?" he said at last. "Francey told you that?"

"He's gonna take me away and I just wanna go home!" Blaine sobbed, curling up into a tighter ball against Cooper's chest and wrapping his short legs around his waist.

Cooper exhaled a long-suffering sigh. "Come on," he said. "I'll take you back to your mom."

Blaine peeked out over Cooper's shoulder as his big brother carried him. He didn't see the child catcher anywhere, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

"Hey, Lilah, I found Blaine," Cooper said, handing Blaine off to her. Blaine let out a happy squeal and latched onto his mother's neck.

"Why, honey lamb!" Lilah exclaimed, hugging him close. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" She kissed his round cheeks repeatedly. "Were you scared to be lost?"

Francey started to edge away, but Cooper wrapped an arm around her waist and hoisted her up. "It's Francey's fault," he announced. "She told him the child-catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang was going to get him and it freaked him out."

Francey scowled and kicked him. "Dammit, Coop!" she said. "Why'd you tattle?"

Lilah covered Blaine's ears. "Frances Meghan Anderson!" she scolded. "You are in deep trouble, young lady. Number one, for scaring your baby brother, and number two, for saying a naughty word. We're going to have a talk with your daddy when we get home."

Francey stuck her tongue out at Cooper. He rolled his eyes and tugged on her curly ponytail.

Lilah cuddled Blaine close. "Nobody's going to take you away from me, sweetie doll," she said. "You're okay. The bad man is only in the movie; he's not going to take you."

Blaine leaned into his mother's shoulder. "I love you, Mama," he said sweetly, leaning up to kiss her on the cheek.

"My poor sweet Babbie," Lilah cooed, petting his curls. "I'm so sorry you were scared." She kissed the top of his head. "I'm so sorry you wee scared. Do you want a toy? Will a toy make you feel better?"

"I think so," he said hopefully, nuzzling into her shoulder.

Francey mumbled something under her breath that did not sound pleasant or ladylike in the slightest.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Precious Anderson sibling babies.

Also, Blaine is so spoiled.


	209. Kiss in the Rain

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Daddy and Daddy are fighting," Brittany announced solemnly as she walked into the choir room, hugging her binder to her chest.<p>

"What you mean, Britt Britt?" Artie inquired.

Brittany sat down at the piano bench with a heavy sigh, hip-checking Brad out of the way. "Kurt and Blaine are yelling at each other," she said. "Are they going to get divorced?"

"Aw, everyone fights," Santana said, crossing the room to hug Brittany. "They'll be fine. Tinkerbell and the Little Prince were meant to be together."

Brittany leaned her cheek against Santana's stomach as Santana petted her bright blonde hair. "They were really mad, though," she said. She reached over and plucked three notes on the piano; Brad frowned and swatted her hand away.

"Guys, guys, code red," Puck said, galloping into the choir room. "We're at a Klaine code red!"

"Brittany said they were fighting, but-" Sam began.

"Kurt took off the gum wrapper ring!" Puck shouted. "This is serious, you guys!"

"Oh crap, man, oh crap," Artie said. "Not the gum wrapper ring!"

Quinn followed Puck into the room, cupping the ring in her hand like a baby bird with a broken wing. "Poor little thing," she said mournfully.

"Why are they fighting?" Santana asked.

Quinn sat down, still cradling the ring. "It's so silly," she said. "I heard them talking this morning…I think it just started out as a misunderstanding."

"Well, out with it, woman, what's going on?" Artie said.

"Blaine told Kurt he's going on vacation with his family in April," Quinn said.

"So?" Santana frowned.

"Kurt's birthday is in April," Puck said.

"And apparently Kurt was planning some sort of big event, since he's turning eighteen this year, and Blaine won't be there, so Kurt's upset," Quinn continued. "And then they started arguing about all sorts of things…how Blaine grinds his teeth when he's sleeping, and Kurt always picks what movies they go see, and Blaine never wears pants that cover his ankles, and Kurt is a cat person and Blaine is a dog person…and, well…it's just a mess."

"Are they going to make it?" Mercedes asked tearfully.

"We have to wait and see," Puck said.

Rachel raced into the choir room. "Kurt just ran outside in tears!" she reported loudly. "I think they're breaking up! Oh god, what are we going to do?"

"We have to stop them!" Brittany said, rising to her feet. "My dolphins! If they're separated, they'll die!"

Rachel ran up the choir room risers and jumped onto a chair to look out the window. "There's Kurt!" she said. "He's going to his car. Alone. Oh my god, oh my god…"

The others climbed up to join her; Artie wheeled anxiously back and forth on the floor below. "Tell me what's going on!" he said.

"I don't know, I can't see, it's raining too hard!" Mercedes said, squinting in the rain.

"Wait!" Rachel interrupted, pressing her hands to the glass. "Blaine! There's Blaine!"

The members of New Directions pressed their faces to the windows and watched with bated breath. Kurt was already halfway to his car, shoulders slumped in defeat, his crisp white shirt soaking wet, plastered to his back and nearly transparent.

Blaine ran after him, mud flinging up behind him with every step and splattering his clothes. He skidded behind Kurt, catching him by the arm and whirling him around. Kurt shouted something at him, flinging his arms out, clearly more upset than angry. Blaine shook his head and took Kurt by the shoulders; Kurt pushed him away and stamped his foot.

Suddenly Blaine cupped Kurt's cheeks in his hands, pulled him close, and kissed him hard on the lips.

"Ooh," Brittany breathed.

Kurt pressed his hands against Blaine's shoulders, as if he was still trying to push him away, but slowly he melted into the kiss. Blaine pulled back, still cupping Kurt's face in his hands, and said something him earnestly. Kurt leaned into the touch and Blaine smoothed a lock of wet hair out of his eyes.

Suddenly Kurt flung his arms around Blaine's neck and leaped into his arms, wrapping his legs around his waist. Blaine held him tight and Kurt leaned in to kiss him, his hands pressed to the sides of his face.

"Okay, that's a good sign," Rachel said.

"What are they doing?" Artie called.

"They're sucking face!" Puck called back. "Like, major sucking face!"

Brittany clasped her hands together. "Maybe they'll make a baby dolphin!" she cooed. Santana rolled her eyes.

"Wow, they're just…just going at it," Quinn said, blinking. "Is that…wow, that was definitely tongue."

"What are you guys watching?" Finn asked, staring at them from the choir room doorway. They whirled around guiltily. "Spying on Kurt and Blaine?"

They nodded.

"Oh, good," he said, leaping up the risers to join them. "I was following Kurt, but I figured I should probably give them some space, so…oh, wow, I didn't know Blaine could even do that."

"Are they just going to do it?" Santana asked. "Mm, never knew they were exhibitionists…"

"Oh, crap, they're coming back in!" Puck said, scrambling down the risers. "Quick, act like we don't know anything!"

They all hastily settled into their seats and tried to act nonchalant. Kurt and Blaine walked in a minute later, both of them soaking wet, their clothes drenched and their hair dripping, but their hands were clasped tightly together. Blaine's shirt was halfway unbuttoned, and Kurt's cheeks were bright pink, his lips rosy and his pale neck dotted with little red love bites.

"Oh, stop smirking at us," Kurt sighed.

"We could totally see you spying on us from the window," Blaine said.

"Voyeurs much?"

"Hey, it was hot," Santana shrugged. "You two should fight more often if it means we get a show like that."

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****aaaaaaaand this is what should have happened when rumors of a Klaine breakup started flying.

This also filledabout eighty bajillion prompts at once, because everyone was like "WRITE ABOUT KLAINE KISSING IN THE RAIN LIKE IN THE NOTEBOOK!11!"

(Full disclosure: I hate the Notebook. Actually, I hate all Nicholas Sparks novels/movies. Although I do have a soft spot for Walk to Remember, just because it was the first "teen girl rom com" I ever saw. But I still think it's silly.)

However, I will do anything for lovely sexy rain kisses.

We need to have an entire episode dedicated to nothing but them getting back together, and it will literally be an entire episode of kisses and schmoop and cuddles and adorableness and then they'll sing "Come What May" and then they'll reveal dramatically that Kurt and Blaine grow up to become Bryan and David from the New Normal.

I swear, Kurt and Blaine need to become Bryan and David's proteges, and they can be their mentors and everything. David and Blaine can hang out and be friends and stuff, and Bryan would be convinced that Kurt was the cutest thing ever and fuss over him.

You know, I've seen drabbles where Blaine is their son. I kind of want to see drabbles where Kurt's their son instead. Just to pay around with it. I at least want them to meet.

How did I get on this topic?


	210. Kurt is a Sore Loser

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Blaine tagged the gate. "I won!" he panted, beaming happily. "I won!" He turned around and waved at his best friend. "Look, Kurt, I won!"<p>

But his best friend didn't seem very excited. Kurt had stopped in his tracks, struggling to catch his breath, and his adorable pink mouth was drawn down in a pout. "No!" he wailed.

Blaine frowned. "Why no?" he asked.

Kurt's chin trembled. "I wanna win," he said. "Why can't I win?"

"'Cause I ran faster," Blaine said, perplexed.

"But I wanna win!" Kurt said, and he began to cry noisily.

Blaine edged away and tiptoed up the back porch steps as Kurt plopped down in the middle of the backyard, sobbing. He knocked timidly on the back door.

Kurt's pretty mama slid the glass door open. "What's wrong, sweetie?" she asked.

"Um, Miss Mollie…Kurt's crying," Blaine whispered loudly. "He's mad 'cause I won the race."

She sighed. "Thank you for telling me," she said. She patted his cheek. "I baked some cookies and they're cooling in the kitchen. Would you like one?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said politely. Miss Mollie took off her butter-yellow gingham apron and draped it over the back of a chair, then walked barefoot onto the back porch, calling for Kurt. Blaine went into the house and helped himself to a warm snickerdoodle cookie, still soft and gooey in the center. He nibbled on it happily.

Miss Mollie walked back into the kitchen with a clearly unhappy Kurt holding onto her hand. "Blaine, Kurt has something he'd like to say," she said, nudging him forward.

Kurt clasped his chubby hands behind his back and rocked up on his toes. "I'm thorry I wath a thore lother," he sighed.

Miss Mollie smoothed his hair. "So?" she prompted.

Kurt sighed heavily. "Pleathe forgive me?" he asked.

Blaine nodded. Miss Mollie smiled. "Now go give him a hug," she said, giving Kurt a gentle push in Blaine's direction. Kurt scooted forward and hugged Blaine around his neck. Blaine hugged him back.

"Good," Miss Mollie said, kissing first Kurt, then Blaine. "Now. Are there any little four-year-olds who would like cookies and milk?"

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****KURT'S BABY LISP IS MY FAVORITE THING.


	211. Blaine Gets a Little Needy

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Blaine, you can stop texting me, I'm here," Kurt said, nudging Blaine's dorm room door open.<p>

Blaine tossed his phone aside. "Oh, thank God," he moaned. "Kurt. I think I'm dying."

Kurt set his bag on the floor and sat down on the edge of Blaine's bed, leaning over to kiss him on the forehead. "What's wrong, honey?" he asked.

"It started like two hours ago," Blaine said, rolling onto his side and pulling his knees to his chest. "It feels like someone's holding onto my stomach and twisting it up into a little ball."

Kurt touched his hand to his forehead and frowned. "You don't feel warm," he said. He moved his hand to Blaine's cheek. "I don't think you're running a fever." He rubbed Blaine's chest. "It sounds like it's just a bad tummyache. I think you'll pull through."

"But it hurts," Blaine whined.

Kurt smiled. "Poor baby," he cooed, nuzzling Blaine's cheek. "What will make it better?"

"I don't know," Blaine said. "I'm sick. Aren't you supposed to take care of me and do all the thinking and stuff?"

"Your sister was not kidding at all when she said that you get whiny when you don't feel good," Kurt grinned. He kissed Blaine's cheek. "What do you need, darling?"

Blaine rolled onto his back and crossed his arms over his chest. "Chicken soup, no noodles," he said. "Sprite. Really cold Sprite. Maybe some crackers, but not saltines. I hate saltines. I like those little oyster crackers."

"Anything else, your highness?" Kurt asked dryly, tangling one of Blaine's curls around his finger.

"Well, I already have my fleece pajama pants and my glasses," he sighed. "Can we watch Narnia?"

"Yes, we can watch Narnia," Kurt smiled. He kissed Blaine's cheek. "If this is you with an upset stomach, than I'd hate to see what you're like when you're really sick."

"It's not pretty," Blaine admitted. "I get a little needy."

Kurt snuggled beside him. "No kidding," he laughed.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I don't write a lot of Blaine sickfic, mostly because it doesn't appeal to me in the same angsty way that Kurt sickfic does. In my world, at least, Blaine has Francey to fuss over him, and since she's pre-med and everything, she knows exactly what she's doing. Plus, since Blaine is the baby of the family, his mother dotes on him, and he tends to get whatever he wants. And then on the other hand you have Kurt, raised by a loving-but-not-very-outwardly-affectionate single father, so there's plenty of angst with that.

But Blaine gets so needy. He's very specific about what he wants: fleece jammies, glasses instead of his contacts, chicken soup with no noodles, oyster crackers, very cold Sprite (but 7-Up is unacceptable) if his stomach hurts, dark chocolate ice cream or hot green tea with lemon if his throat hurts, only the honey-filled cough drops, only the tissues with Vicks VapoRub on them, and he stays in bed watching The Chronicles of Narnia until he feels better.

(Which actually is my movie of choice when I don't feel good. I have the extended edition and I'll seriously watch it all day.)

He's also a mega hypochondriac. Someone sneezes? He's chugging orange juice. Someone's running a fever? He checks his temperature every few hours. Someone throws up? Sympathy puke all over the place.

It's how Francey knew that Kurt was Blaine's soulmate- Kurt got sick, and Blaine bent over backwards to take care of him without popping a single Airborne tablet.


	212. Just Fine

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>He'd mulled it over for a while.<p>

After all, it was easy for people to see the resemblance when he was around his family. He and Francey were nearly mirror images- hazel eyes, dark curls, the same height and build and strong-fingered hands. Even Cooper shared a few similarities, recognizable enough when the three of them stood side by side.

But Kurt didn't look anything like his father.

Not that it was a bad thing or anything. Not at all. But he liked the close familiarity of being able to glance at his sister and see himself in the slope of her nose and the color of her eyes, to look through family photo albums and have to ask which chubby-cheeked baby was which Anderson child. It made him feel…connected, in a way.

He had never gotten to see Kurt's old home, the pretty little rambling one-story with the lovingly tended remains of a flower garden in the front and the Hummel name painted in a feminine, unfamiliar script on the mailbox. They'd driven past it before; Kurt had been in a nostalgic mood and taken him over there to show him, and then tried to hide his tears behind his hand when he realized that his mother's garden was gone and the mailbox was replaced and the siding had been repainted.

Kurt's home now was a blended house, little bits of him and his father and Carole and Finn all mixed together. There was nothing left of just the Hummels, just the Hummels-and-the-Hudsons.

Kurt didn't look like his father. Or act like him. They were father and son, the only true Hummels left, but they didn't seem to have anything in common. Not in looks, not in actions, not in likes.

"Blaine? Honey, are you daydreaming?"

He blinked and looked over at Carole. "I guess I was," he said.

She smiled and patted his arm. "Go sit," she said. "I'll take care of the kitchen. You go spend as much time as you can with Kurt before he leaves for New York next week."

Blaine smiled back, his throat suddenly tight, and nodded. He was trying not to think about Kurt leaving, and so far he hadn't done very well.

He left the kitchen and went into the living room. Kurt and his father sat side-by-side on the couch, watching a rerun of Saturday Night Live. Blaine paused, studying Kurt's face. His chest ached.

He didn't want Kurt to go. He didn't want him to wander around New York City all by himself. It was silly, but…but who was going to make sure he remembered to eat an actual breakfast instead of just a sip of orange juice? Who was going to find him sleepwalking around his unfamiliar apartment and tuck him back into bed? Who was going to care that he was someone's son, someone's brother, someone's _boyfriend?_

The comedian onscreen said something funny and both Hummel men laughed at the same time. Blaine watched, fascinated. They still didn't look anything alike, but…there was something familiar in the way their noses both scrunched up when they laughed. For a split second, Kurt looked just like his dad.

And then Kurt turned to say something to his dad, his blue eyes dancing, and Blaine felt the knot of anxiety in his chest relax. Kurt was Kurt. He wasn't his dad, he wasn't his mom, he wasn't his brother or his boyfriend. He was Kurt, brilliant and glorious and impatient and hot-tempered and perfect. And he was going to be fine. No matter what.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****All the long-distance-relationship!Klaine feels.

They're getting back together. I know it.

And in the meantime, they're always together in my canon.


	213. Blaine Says Goodbye

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"I'm home!" Kurt called, nudging the door to their apartment shut with his hip. "And that was the official worst subway ride home. You don't happen to have dinner ready, do you?"<p>

He dropped his bag on the floor and wrestled out of his damp coat. "Blaine?" he called as he hung it up in the closet, draping his scarf on their shared rack. "Blaine, where are you?"

"…in here."

Kurt frowned and kicked off his shoes. "What's wrong?" he asked as he padded down the short hall to their bedroom. "You sound like you have a cold."

He peeked into their room. Blaine was sitting on the floor by the bed, knees curled up to his chest. "You're sitting in the dark," Kurt said. He reached over and turned on the lights. "Blaine? Why are your eyes so red? Have you been crying?"

"They put Snowy down today," Blaine burst out, and he covered his face with hands. "God, you must think I'm so stupid…"

"No, honey, no," Kurt said, dropping on his knees beside him and pulling him into a hug. "You're not stupid at all." He kissed the top of his rumpled head. "I'm so sorry. He was such a sweet little dog."

Blaine hugged Kurt's arm to his chest. "He was," he said, his voice thick. "He was the cutest puppy, all white and fluffy, and he just…he was always happy to see me, always wanted me to hold him. He was always jumping up on me and licking my face at the absolute worst moments."

Kurt nestled closer and stroked Blaine's curls. "He loved you to little bits and pieces," he said. "He tolerated Francey and he thought I was all right, but he adored you with every fiber of his loyal little heart."

Blaine leaned his cheek into Kurt's shoulder. "I didn't even get to say goodbye," he said, swiping at his nose. "Francey said he was acting funny last night, and he couldn't even get up and walk, or eat anything, and when they took him to the vet this morning, they said…"

He couldn't even get the words out. Kurt shushed him gently and rubbed his back.

"I don't know what it's going to be like to go home again and not have Snowy come running in for a cuddle," he finally sighed.

"I know," Kurt said, bending to kiss him on the cheek, and they sat there in thoughtful silence together, Kurt's fingers falling into a soothing rhythm as he raked gently through Blaine's curls.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Have I published the Snowy drabble on Tumbled yet? I feel like I have. It's in here somewhere.

Anyways, my headcanon is that when Blaine was little, about nine or ten or so, on the very beginning of puberty, he had a lot of trouble making friends. It wasn't that people hated him or didn't like him, it's just that...he didn't quite click right with them. His parents put him in all sorts of activities- children's choir at the community center, swim team at the Y, soccer team at school- and while he was a bright, outgoing, engaging little boy and had plenty of people that he got along with, he never really found a best friend, or a friend that he could confide in and be close to.

So his dad got him a puppy, and Blaine named him Snowy after Tintin's dog, and they were best friends. Snowy is a sweet little cocker spaniel mix, with white fluffy fur, and from day one Snowy _adored _Blaine with every fiber of his little puppy being. They were absolutely inseparable and Blaine took excellent care of him- feeding him, taking him on walks, cleaning up after him. Snowy pretty much ignored Cooper when he visited and would yip at Francey, but Blaine was his human and he loved him.

After the Sadie Hawkins dance, Snowy pretty much glued himself to Blaine's side during his recovery process, and when he was sent away from Dalton he would curl up on Blaine's pillow and watch the door, waiting for his boy to come home.

Kurt was a little nervous about meeting Snowy, what with him being a cat person and knowing that Snowy could be very defensive, and at first Snowy acted extremely jealous, trying to get Blaine's attention away from the new person. And then he realized that eventually Kurt would go home and he could Blaine all to himself again, and anyways, Kurt made his human happy, and after that he warmed up to Kurt.

And I think that once Blaine and Kurt were a little more settled, maybe married, and living in an apartment that allowed pets, Kurt took Blaine on his birthday to the local animal shelter and they picked out a new puppy.

Also, it's my headcanon that Blaine got Kurt a tiny gray kitten on their six month anniversary, and he named her Amanda and carried her around everywhere and totally tried to get one of those designer pet-carrier-purses until Blaine talked him out of it.

And also that Burt pretended to hate Amanda, which broke Kurt's heart, until one day he came home from school to find his dad taking a nap on the couch with the tiny kitten curled up on his chest, and it dawned on him that Burt was actually terribly fond of her.

Because that is adorable.

Also, this author's note is a million times longer than the drabble.

Oops.


	214. New Mommy

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>They sat in silence outside the house. Burt crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the dashboard of his truck until Carole was pretty sure he was going to bore a hole in it.<p>

"This is a really big deal, Carole," he said at last. "You're the first person I've dated since my wife…" His voice trailed off. "I gotta be honest. Kurt…he's the most important thing in my world. He's-"

"He's your priority," she finished quietly. She reached over and squeezed his hand. "I know. I'm the same way with my little boy."

"Finn and I got along pretty well, though," Burt said. "He's been looking for a dad in his life." He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Kurt's mama's only been gone a year and a half. He still cries for her at night when he thinks I can't hear him. And he's not real good with strangers. If he-"

"It's probably going to take some time for him to warm up to me," Carole said. "And he might not ever warm up to me. But we'll cross that bridge when and if we come to it, all right?" She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I just want to meet your son."

Burt smiled at her, still worried but grateful, and squeezed her hand before climbing out of the truck. She followed him up the walk to the front door, surreptitiously taking in the details of the house- the Hummel name painted in pretty script on the mailbox, the slightly overrun garden full of yellow roses and blue morning glories, the small aqua child's bicycle parked on the porch.

The storm door was closed but the front door was open, and Burt stepped into the foyer. "Kurt, I'm home," he called.

A pretty teenage girl walked in and smiled. "Hey, Mr. Hummel," she said. "Kurt just finished his homework."

"Thanks, Ashley," Burt said. He turned to Carole. "This is Ashley Fabray, Kurt's babysitter. She watches him after school when he can't stay at the garage with me."

"Nice to meet you," Carole said, shaking the teenager's hand. "I'm Carole Hudson."

Ashley looked from Carole to Burt and back again, her green eyes dancing. "Ah, so this is…" She cleared her throat. "You'll probably see me around, Ms. Hudson. I'm here pretty often. Sometimes I bring my little sister on the days I have to babysit her too." She slung her bag over her shoulder. "See you on Monday, Mr. Hummel. Nice to meet you, Ms. Hudson." She leaned back towards the kitchen. "Bye, Kurt."

"Bye, Ashley," a little voice piped back.

Ashley let herself out the front door. Burt exhaled slowly. "I think he's upset," he mumbled. "He usually comes running in when I get home…"

She patted his arm and smiled encouragingly. Burt tried to smile back and headed into the kitchen. A small boy sat at the table with his back to them, a plate with half a cookie and an empty tumbler of milk at his elbow. Burt scooped the child up. "Hey, scooter," he said, hugging him tightly. "Weren't you gonna come say hi to your daddy?"

"Yeah, but I wanted to finish my times tables first," Kurt objected. He snuggled in his father's embrace and kissed him on the cheek. "I missed you, Daddy."

"Missed you too, bud," Burt said, running a hand over Kurt's silky brown hair. "Hey, I have somebody I want you to meet. Kurt, this is Miss Carole. Carole…this is Kurt."

Kurt regarded her solemnly. He was a pretty child, all wide blue eyes and long lashes and charming freckles. His hands, holding on firmly to the shoulder of his father's shirt, had that slightly-too-large look of a child on the edge of his first growth spurt, but he was still rather small for his age. He wore a blue and green argyle sweater, crisply pressed khaki shorts, and neatly-tied white sneakers, and Carole had to hide a smile- he must've picked that out himself, because there was no way the boy's father would have the fashionable presence of mind to put that kind of outfit on a nine-year-old.

"Hi, Kurt," she said. "It's very nice to meet you. Your daddy's told me a lot about you."

"Hello," Kurt said, his expression wary and unreadable. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He wriggled around in Burt's grip to face him. "Dad, can I finish my homework in my room?"

"Yeah, kiddo, sure," Burt said, setting him on his feet. Kurt cleared his folder and papers off the table, tucked them under his arm, and walked calmly up the stairs. Burt sighed. "Sorry, he's just-"

"I think that went very well," Carole said. She squeezed his arm. "Let's get dinner started, okay?"

They made dinner together, and with just the two of them in the kitchen Burt started to relax visibly, laughing and teasing as they worked. It thrilled her secretly- this is what life could be like. No more long hours at work while Finn played at the Puckerman house, getting into who knows what kind of trouble. No more eating takeout or grilled cheese sandwiches or canned soup because she came home too tired to make a real meal for herself and her son. No more empty ache when she got the mail and found bills she couldn't pay or notices for events at Finn's school that she couldn't make.

She could have a real life- a kind, loving dependable husband who could provide for her and care for her and love her son like he was his own. A house that was paid off. Working fewer hours because it was a two-income home. Making dinner and sitting down with her family to enjoy it. Going to Finn's soccer games on the weekend. Taking Finn to drum lessons. Baking Finn a birthday cake instead of buying cupcakes at the grocery store.

"Kurt, come on down, buddy," Burt called. "Time for dinner."

With a guilty start, Carole realized that she hadn't put Kurt into any of those pleasant daydreams. She only saw herself and Burt and Finn.

Burt had told her about Kurt on their first date. Wanted her to know exactly what she would be getting into, he said. Kurt was sweet and smart, but highstrung. He cried a lot. He had unexplainable temper tantrums. The only thing he liked less than strangers was any kind of change. He was clingy, he was possessive, he blamed himself for anything and everything that went wrong. He had nightmares pretty often.

Burt had stammered through the story, not meeting her eyes, until Carole ventured to ask why Kurt was like that. And then the dam burst.

Kurt adored his mother. Kurt relied on his mother. Kurt had to watch her waste away in front of him, getting paler and sicker and weaker with every passing day. Kurt was there for every emergency room visit, every medical procedure. Kurt was there when she died. Kurt hadn't been the same since.

Burt met Finn after two weeks of dating. They were coming up on the three month mark, and today was the first day that Burt could bring himself to introduce her to Kurt.

Carole busied herself with pouring water into three glasses and setting on the table. Of course Kurt would need to figure prominently into her hypothetical future with Burt Hummel. Kurt was Burt's world. More than once he'd postponed a date, apologizing profusely but explaining that Kurt needed help on a big project for school the next day, or Kurt didn't sleep well the night before and he wanted to make sure he was okay, or Kurt was having a rough day and he didn't want to leave him with the babysitter. Once he'd even cut a date short because the babysitter called and said that Kurt had fallen on the stairs and was crying- he hadn't even gotten off the phone before kissing her goodbye hastily and heading to his car.

Kurt was Burt's world as much as Finn was hers. Of course she needed to change things in her daydreams. But as she thought about it, it seemed wonderful. She'd always wanted more than one child; Finn had always wanted a little brother. Two little boys to tuck in at night, two little boys to take pictures of on the first day of school, two little boys to buy presents for on Christmas. She could take him to his piano lessons after school and see his dance recitals on weekends. She could win him over. She could.

"Kurt? Kiddo, come back here. Show me what you've got."

Carole looked up to see Kurt marching towards her, his childish little mouth set in a grim line and his faint freckles standing out starkly on his paper-white skin. He thrust a folded up paper into her hands and took a step back, his hands in fists at his sides. Carole opened the paper slowly. The note was written in an agitated, untidy, childish scrawl with blue marker; several words were vehemently underlined for emphasis.

_Dear miss Carol,_

_Thank you very much for comeing over but I need to tell you that I do _**not **_need a new mommy. I have a mom and she is perfect becaus she is an angel and she watchs over me and she would be _**very very sad **_if I found a new mom. I am glad you make my dad happy I know he is happy because he whistles sometimes and he stopped whistleing when Mommy died but I do _**not **_need a new mom._

_Thank you very much._

_Sincerly,_

_Kurt Elijah Hummel_

"Kurt, what did you write?" Burt asked softly.

Carole folded up the letter and looked at the child. He held his chin up stubbornly, but his lower lip was trembling and his eyes were very bright. She sat down slowly and set the letter on the table. "Kurt, come here, honey," she said gently.

Kurt inched a little closer, still raising his chin stubbornly. "Kurt, I don't want to be your mommy," she said.

Kurt's expression changed lightning-fast. He seemed half relieved, but half hurt. She could see the question written all over his face- _but why don't you want to be my mommy?_

"You are a lovely, wonderful boy," she said quickly. "Any lady would be thrilled to be your mommy. But you already have a mommy. You don't need a new one."

Kurt let out a sudden audible sniffle, his cheeks flushing red with bitten-back tears. Carole took his slim hands in hers and squeezed them gently. "I don't want to be your new mommy," she said again. "You and your daddy loved your mommy very, very much, and I don't want to take that away from you. But I would like to be a…a special person in your life." She rubbed her thumbs across the backs of his hands. "Things have been hard since she went to heaven, right?"

A tear spilled down Kurt's cherubic cheek as he nodded. She wiped it away gently. "All I want to do is make things a little easier," she said. "I don't want to replace your mommy, but I would like to help your daddy take care of you. Maybe watch you sometimes instead of the sitter, or make you dinner, or take you to dance class."

Kurt looked at her curiously. "You don't think it's weird that I go to dance class?" he asked, his voice high and raspy.

"Not at all," she said. "Your dad has told me all about what a good dancer you are, and how much you like it."

Kurt smiled at her a little bit, like sunshine peeping out from behind a storm cloud. She tucked a stray lock of hair away from his forehead. "Do you think your mommy would mind if I was a special person for you?" she asked.

Kurt hesitated, clearly weighing the pros and cons. At long last he shook his head, looking up at her shyly. She smiled and squeezed his hands. "Could I give you a hug?" she asked.

He edged a little closer and hugged her gingerly around her neck. She hugged him back, feeling his slight body tremble. She rubbed his narrow back, and for a split second he rested his cheek against her shoulder before he pulled away and darted to his father's side, ducking behind his legs.

Burt didn't say anything. He just caught Kurt in a fierce embrace, picking him up and holding him tight, and Carole's heart felt so full she thought it might burst.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Uggggggh, all the baby!Kurt and overprotective!Burt feels.

This is basically what it would look like if Burt and Carole got married when the boys were little. I really feel like Carole would have introduced Finn to Burt right away, and Finn latched onto him quickly and thought of him as a dad pretty soon after. But Burt would probably be loath to introduce Kurt to the Hudson, for fear of how that might affect him.

I also really like the idea that Quinn's older sister used to babysit Kurt, and sometimes she would bring Quinn over to play with him, and at first Kurt hated her and would say mean things and hide from her, and she would throw fits and complain to Ashley, but one day she brought her Barbie collection and Kurt peeked out from under the bed, and she offered him her favorite Barbie, Mermaid Hair Teresa, and they became good friends after that- as long as she brought dolls. (Burt was probably still not very good about buying girlier toys for Kurt, and while Kurt didn't mind the action figures and racecars, he didn't really understand the Nerf guns and the big bulky action figures and the stuff that made loud noises).

(Also, I periodically mention a large cuddly Ariel doll that Burt and Mollie got for Kurt when they took him to Disney World for his birthday, a month before Mollie died, and after she died Ariel became Kurt's best friend, and he carried her everywhere and got in trouble for sneaking her in his backpack to school, and sometimes when he was lonely he would cuddle her and tuck her into bed beside him, and Burt would have to give Ariel a goodnight kiss too when he kissed Kurt goodnight. She basically became a surrogate source of female affection to him, especially since he was content in knowing she would never leave him.)

Also, Kurt's spelling is terrible because math came naturally to him (it's very logical and sensible and predictable) while language arts was harder. Mollie used to help him with his homework and quiz him on his spelling words, and after she died he started struggling, and while Burt knows that Kurt's grades are slipping, he doesn't know how to help him.

But it's okay, because Carole will figure out what's going on, and she'll start sitting both little boys down after school to help them with their homework, and Kurt helps Finn in math, and everything's okay.


	215. Lady Klaine versus Lady Finn & Lady Puck

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy, not Fox.

* * *

><p>"This'll be awesome," Puck giggled.<p>

Fiona scratched the back of her neck anxiously. "I don't know," she said hesitantly. "Kate'll be pissed if she finds out."

Puck tiptoed down the hallway to Kate's room and tried the knob tentatively. "Damn," she said. "Locked."

"See? We shouldn't do it," Fiona said. "Let's go. We can play Rock Band. I'll let you have drums this time."

"No way, bitch, drums suck," Puck said. She ran a hand through her shaggy pixie cut and scowled. "Dammit. Do you have any bobby pins?"

Fiona tugged anxiously on her short ponytail. "A what?" she said.

"Never mind," Puck said. She fumbled around in the pocket of her cut-off shorts, dug out a credit card, and wiped it on the hem of her neon blue crop top. "This'll work fine."

"Where did you learn that?" Fiona hissed.

"Juvie," Puck shrugged. The door to Kate's room clicked open. "Success! Come on, let's go."

Puck galloped into Kate's room with reckless abandon. Fiona followed, glancing around nervously. "Kate will kill us if she figures out we messed with her stuff," she warned.

"She's at Warblerette rehearsal with her girlfriend till what, seven?" Puck shrugged. She bumped Kate's childhood collection of dolls around on their shelf, tweaking them into suggestive positions. "By the time she gets back, we'll be long gone at soccer practice."

Fiona sighed heavily and sat down on the edge of Kate's neatly made bed. "If we get in trouble, I'm blaming you," she warned.

Puck grinned and sat down at Kate's little white vanity, rummaging in her pocket. "A little bit of garlic paste in her lip gloss…a little baby powder in her hair dryer…a little Nair in her hair gel…" she smirked.

Fiona bolted upright. "Okay, you cannot do that," she said. "Kate is obsessed with her hair. If you do that-"

"DEAR DIARY!" a sweet voice bellowed.

Puck froze. "What the hell is that?"

"TODAY I SAT NEXT TO LYLE ZISES IN STUDY HALL. I THINK HE IS THE HOTTEST PIECE OF ASS IN ALL OF MCKINLEY HIGH SCHOOL!"

Fiona frowned. "That sounds like…"

Puck leaped up, knocking off half the bottles from the vanity and racing down the hall. Fiona ran behind her.

"ALL I WANT IS THAT SWEET HUSKY HUNK TO NOTICE ME! BUT NO MATTER HOW AWESOMELY HOT MY REPUTATION IS, HE STILL WON'T PAY ANY ATTENTION TO ME!"

Puck flung the door to Fiona's room wide open. Kate was jumping up and down on Fiona's unmade bed in her school uniform with a hot pink diary in her hands, her white knee-highs sliding down her legs and her short gray skirt flipping up, revealing a hint of her light blue ruffled underwear. Blaire sat on Fiona's messy desk, laughing behind her hand and clearly enjoying the view.

"Hummel!" Puck snarled.

Kate stuck out her tongue and continued to bounce merrily, her long hair sliding free of her red hair ribbon and waving nearly to her waist. "Valentine's Day is coming up, and I really want him to ask him out!" she read, licking the tip of her finger and turning a page in the diary. "But then again, I'm a twenty-first century bitch! Maybe I'll just ask him out!"

"I'm going to kill you!" Puck shouted.

"You shouldn't leave your diary around in your unzipped backpack!" Kate taunted, waving it back and forth. "This is what you get for trying to mess with my makeup!"

"Give me my diary, Hummel!" Puck screamed, and she lunged for her. Kate shrieked and tossed the diary to Blaire, but not before Puck had thrown herself at Kate's knees and shoved her off the bed.

"Oh my god, don't kill my sister!" Fiona shrieked. "Dad will kill us!"

Kate let out a high-pitched scream and rolled onto Puck, scratching at her like a little wildcat. Puck grabbed a handful of Kate's long hair and gave a vicious tug.

Blaire edged away from the brawl. "Here they go again," she sighed. "Who do you think will cry first?"

"Kate, but Puck'll bleed first," Fiona said. "I just hope they don't break anything this time."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Writing lady!Klaine is very weird for me, but my darling Vale loves it and this was kind of a hilarious prompt.

But this would be just as funny if it was still boy!Klaine.

Especially with Kurt jumping on the bed while Blaine admired how attractive he is in his underwear.

I wonder if anyone wanted to draw Fiona, Kate, Blaire, and Puck (whose real name is Norah)? I have a pretty clear view in my mind of what they look like BUT I CANNOT DRAW TO SAVE MY LIFE.

UNLESS YOU LIKE STICK FIGURES.

I DRAW A MEAN STICK FIGURE.


	216. The Hummel Family

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

This is a verse where Mollie didn't die (although she did get sick) and she and Burt had three more children, so Kurt is the oldest of four Hummel children.

Kurt Elijah Hummel: age 16

Burt Thomas Hummel, Jr.: age 8

Madeleine Margaret Hummel: age 6

Lucas Gabriel Hummel: age nearly 3

* * *

><p>"I'm home!" Kurt called. "Where is everybody?"<p>

"Kitchen, baby," his mother called back.

He nudged off his shoes and dropped his bag on the floor just as a little flurry of lavender tulle came racing down the stairs and into his arms. "KK!" Madeleine shrieked. "KK's back from Dalton! Mommy, Mommy, KK's back from Dalton!"

Kurt laughed as his six-year-old sister latched onto his knees and hugged him tightly. "Hi, princess," he said, bending to kiss the top of her head. "How was dance class today?"

"Good," she said, pressing her cheek against his thigh. "KK, I don't like your uniform. I like your pretty clothes better."

"Me too," he said, taking her by the hand and walking her into the kitchen. His younger brother sat at the table, homework strewn around him, and his mother was humming as she stirred something on the stove. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, sweetheart," she said, switching off the burner as she turned around to hug him. "How's school going? Finding all of your classes all right?"

"I'm doing fine," he promised.

She hugged him again; he dropped his chin to her shoulder. "Oh, honey, you're so thin. Are you eating enough at school?"

"I'm fine," he reassured.

"I made your favorite," she said. She cupped his cheeks in her hands. "And how's everything else, sweetheart?"

She brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead. "I'm okay," he said, lowering his voice. "I still have nightmares sometimes, but…you know."

"Your daddy and I are still raising hell with the school board," she said. "I can't believe they let that Karofsky boy back in school after what he did to you."

"What did he do to Kurt?" Madeleine piped up.

Mollie picked her up and lifted her off the counter. "Nothing, Maddy," she said, setting her on her feet. "Go change out of your dance outfit before dinner."

She pouted. "But I look pretty," she objected.

"We can play dress-up this weekend," Kurt told her. He tapped her nose lightly. "Maybe if you're very good I'll paint your nails."

Madeleine shrieked in excitement and zipped away. Mollie looked pained. "You know how your dad gets when you get her dolled up," she warned.

"Oh, you painted my nails when I was her age," Kurt shrugged.

Mollie sighed and pulled a stack of plates down from the cupboard. "Thomas, honey, are you done with your math homework?" she asked.

"No," the eight-year-old said. He gave a vicious shove and pushed the papers to the floor in a heap. "It's stupid and I hate it."

Mollie took a step towards him, but Kurt pulled up a chair beside his younger brother and folded his arms on the table. "Why do you hate it?" he asked.

"'Cause I'm dumb," Thomas muttered, slouching down in his chair and sticking his lower lip out in a pout that was eerily like his older brother's at that age.

"Burt Thomas Hummel Jr., you are not dumb," Mollie said. "Don't say that."

"If I'm not dumb, then why can't I get my stupid math homework right?" Thomas cried. He dropped his head on the table, his little shoulders slumping in frustration.

Kurt patted his back. "I bet Daddy can help you this weekend," he offered. "And maybe once you've got it all done, I can take you to the park with your racecars."

Thomas peeked out at him, the threat of frustrated tears still lingering on his lower lashes. "The remote control ones?" he asked warily.

"Of course."

"And I get the red one?"

"I wouldn't dream of taking it."

Thomas considered this prospect solemnly. Mollie bent to pick up his homework, stacking the papers neatly, then leaned over to brush his scruffy dark hair aside and kiss his forehead. "You can worry about math later, baby," she said. She kissed him again. "Go wash up for dinner, all right?"

Thomas slid off the chair. "And then after dinner I'm gonna get out my racecars for when Brother takes me to the park tomorrow," he announced, running out of the kitchen and thundering down the stairs to the basement bedroom he shared with Kurt.

"His socks don't match," Kurt remarked.

"He's also wearing a purple plaid button up with an orange and green striped tee shirt, but you know how he is," Mollie said. She sighed. "Dad and I are looking into getting him a tutor."

"He's still struggling?" Kurt asked. He picked up his younger brother's homework and frowned at the half-erased smudges and clumsy numbers.

"He's a smart boy, it just takes him a little longer to pick up on things," Mollie said. "He gets so frustrated when he doesn't get things perfect on his first try. Something all four of my children have in common." She smoothed Kurt's hair. "Speaking of which, can you go get Lucas? He's still napping."

"Sure," Kurt said, sliding away from the table. "Will Dad be home soon?"

"Any minute," Mollie said. She looked at him and smiled. "I'm so glad you're back, baby. It's not the same when you're gone at school."

He smiled and hugged her quickly before going up the stairs to get the youngest Hummel. His sister's door was closed, but he could hear one of her princess CDs playing loudly. He grinned and went down the hall to the little nursery.

All of the Hummel babies had spent the first few years of their lives in the tiny bedroom next to their parents'. He still remembered when they painted it pink for Madeleine and soft green for Thomas; he could even vaguely remember when it was blue for him. Now the room was painted yellow for the littlest- and last, as his mother emphatically declared.

He crept closer to the crib and lowered the bar carefully. They were going to get rid of the crib soon- the baby was two and a half, almost ready for a big-kid bed. It was going to be weird not to have a baby in the house anymore.

"Lucas," he sang softly, brushing his fingers over the toddler's fine hair. "Morning, baby Lucas."

His youngest sibling curled up in a tight little ball, his thumb firmly in his mouth. Kurt tickled his plump little belly lightly. "Good morning, baby sunshine," he crooned. "Good morning, baby sunshine."

Lucas opened his eyes slowly and smiled drowsily at him. Kurt smiled back. "Hi, Lukey," he said. "Hi. Remember me?"

Lucas made a sleepy cooing sound and raised his arms to be held. Kurt picked him up; the little boy instantly snuggled into the crook of his arm. Kurt petted his tousled sleep-mussed hair and kissed his round flushed cheek. He loved all his little siblings, but Lucas was still in his sweet clingy baby stage, making him the most adorable.

Lucas made a slight hiccup of protest; Kurt picked up his blankie and handed it to him. Satisfied, Lucas rubbed his blanket against his cheek and nuzzled contently against Kurt's shoulder.

He carried his baby brother down the stairs. Madeleine and Thomas were busily helping Mollie set the table. "I've got the baby," he said.

"Mama," Lucas crowed, stretching out his chubby arms to Mollie, and she picked him up with a quick kiss to his button nose, settling him comfortably on her hip.

"Now I have all my babies," she said. She adjusted Lucas as she pinched Kurt's cheek playfully; Madeline latched onto her waist as Thomas sidled up to Kurt like a silent shadow. "I can't image what I'd do without any of you."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Someone asked me about, if Mollie lived, if she and Burt would have had more children. And I was like..."MOST LIKELY!" They probably would have wanted a houseful of children running around. But they probably would have waited a while- after all, if Mollie was only eighteen when Kurt was born, it would be a lot smarter to wait!

Thomas- or Teeby, as they call him- is very much a little Burt. He's very logical and doesn't really get into artsy stuff and does't care about clothes _at all _and is always asking how things work. He does have some kind of delay- possibly on the autism spectrum. He loves his big brother but would never admit it, and he absolutely idolizes his dad. He's not very good at socializing and is much happier playing in his room, but he does have social anxiety issues and will cling desperately to Mollie or Burt or Kurt when he feels out of his element.

Maddy is a little doll. She's the only girl, so her brothers are very protective of her and she's definitely daddy's little princess. Mollie has learned that she has to hold onto the family checkbook when they go shopping, because otherwise Maddy will come home with a new dress or doll or something. She's very much a little girl and _adores _Kurt because he dresses her up and goes to all of her dance recitals and treats her like a grown-up. And half of her friends at school are in love with her handsome big brother, which makes her very proud.

And then Lucas is the sweet little ball of sunshine- very easy going and laid back, very cuddly, very cheerful. Everyone in the family likes to take turns playing with him and holding him, and he seems the most likely- after Kurt- to be musically inclined.


	217. When the Worst Happens

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"<em>You show up at our school dancing with a boy like some pansy-ass faggot, then you're gonna get your teeth kicked in like some pansy-ass faggot!"<em>

"Blaine?"

"_Yeah, you can cry if you want, not gonna change anything. You deserve it, you queer!'_

"Blaine?"

"_I hope you rot in hell."_

"Blaine!"

Someone shook him by the arm, none too gently, and he blinked, crashing back to reality. "Blaine, are you okay?" Rachel asked tearfully.

"I'm fine," he said. He shook his head. "I'm fine!"

Puck, Sam, and Mike had pinned down the tormentors, pinning them up against the dumpsters. Brittany knelt on the pavement, her bright green tulle dress already ripped to shreds from the rough ground. Quinn's shoes were abandoned on the ground beside her; she'd left them behind when she went running after Finn.

"It'll be okay," Rachel said, her voice shaking. "It'll…it'll be okay."

Blaine's throat felt tight. "I only left him alone for a second," he said, his voice thin and pitiful in his own ears. "It was just a second."

He heard a faint shuddering sob from the body on the pavement, and suddenly he didn't feel like crying anymore. He felt like killing something. Stabbing something. Ripping someone's heart out.

_This wasn't supposed to happen again._

"Blaine?" Brittany said, her voice far away and floating. "Blaine, I think he wants you."

He felt like he was going to fly apart into a million pieces, but he forced himself to walk over to them calmly. His heart had stopped beating. It felt like it had been replaced by a lump of lead.

He knelt down on the pavement and covered his mouth with his hand. "I can't get him to stop bleeding," Brittany said. "Kurt, stop bleeding." His head rested on her knees; she stroked his hair gently. "Kurt, stop it!"

Blaine exhaled slowly through his fingers. Kurt looked like a broken doll. Blood covered his face, leaking steadily from his nose and his ear and a wicked gash across his forehead, soaking into his hair and Brittany's dress. They'd torn at his clothes, leaving him barely covered in shredded remains. His chest was turning black and blue, his heaving sides marked with lumps where ribs had snapped; his knees were torn open and his palms were raw. Sparkling remnants of gold and plastic gems littered the pavement around his limp body- the shattered remains of the prom queen crown.

"Stop bleeding!" Brittany cried, pressing her shaking hands to the wound on Kurt's forehead. Her palms were coated in his blood; it seeped between her fingers and clung in drops to her fingernails.

Santana lifted Brittany up by her elbows and pulled her into a hug, shushing her gently as she smoothed her hair. Quinn knelt on the ground, her Cinderella gown pooling around her in a soft cloud, and leaned Kurt's head onto her knees. Kurt let out a terrible animalistic keening noise through his clenched teeth. "Sh, sh, sh," Quinn soothed, trailing her fingers across his forehead, careful of the deep split in his soft skin. She looked up at Blaine, her mascara running down her cheeks in rivulets. "Finn's calling Burt, and Mr. Schue's calling an ambulance."

Kurt turned his head slightly and cried out in pain, the sound dying into a taut moan. "I don't know what to do!" Quinn said desperately.

Kurt cracked open one eye, the beautiful blue of the iris barely discernable as it sank into the bruised swelling. But he looked at Blaine, his gray lips parted, and that was the last push he needed.

He fumbled in his suit pockets, pulling out the items he'd stowed away- the gauze, the disposable ice packs, the packet of tissues. Hastily he unrolled most of the gauze, folded it up into a messy rectangle, and touched it to Kurt's forehead. Kurt let out a sob, his back arching. "I know, I know, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry. I know it hurts." He glanced up. "Quinn, hold that in place. We have to stop the bleeding."

She obeyed. Kurt continued to whimper plaintively; she cooed over him like a mother comforting her child. Blaine dabbed at the blood dripping from Kurt's nose. There was an awful crooked bump across the bridge.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, Kurt!"

Suddenly Finn was pressing in on his other side, his tux shirt sleeves rolled up past his elbows and the hem half-untucked. "Oh my god, oh my god," he breathed. He reached out a shaking hand and touched Kurt's bare chest lightly, right above his heart. "Why…why did they do this?" He stood up suddenly, fists clenched, glaring at the attackers that Puck and Mike and Sam were struggling to hold at bay. "Why'd you kill my brother?"

He started to lunge at them, but Mike held up a warning hand and Sam shook his head. "He's not dead, Finn," Quinn snapped. She still held the gauze to Kurt's forehead, but it was rapidly soaking up blood, thick and scarlet. "And he's still conscious."

Finn froze. "He is?" he said.

"Barely," Blaine said. He rested his hand against Kurt's neck, curving his fingers protectively and feeling for the thin thready pump of his pulse.

Finn knelt down again. "Hey," he said. "Hey, Kurt, it's me. It's your brother." He reached out to touch him, trying to find a spot of skin that wasn't soaked with blood, but gave up and pressed his hand to his cheek anyway. "Can you hear me?" He didn't wait for a response, stroking his thumb against Kurt's cheek. "I called Dad, kiddo. He's coming. Can you hear me, Kurt? Dad's coming." His voice broke. "Oh, god…"

"You have to keep it together, Finn," Blaine said sharply. "For Kurt's sake."

Finn swiped at his face, smearing blood across his cheek. "If I'd been there…"

"Well, you weren't, so stop feeling sorry for yourself," Blaine roared, pushing him back. "No one was there, okay? No one knew until it was too late, and now-"

Featherlight fingers touched his arm. He froze and looked down.. "Kurt?" he breathed.

Kurt looked up at him through a haze, his fingers barely resting on Blaine's elbow, too weak to hold on. His chest heaved once and his breath broke off sharply. His lips parted, blood dripping down his chin. "It's okay," Blaine said. He cupped Kurt's cheeks in his hands as siren began to wail in the far-off distance. "Baby, it's okay. I'm right here. You're okay." A tear dripped down his cheek, lightning hot, and fell on Kurt's lip. "it's going to be okay, baby."

The gauze pressed to his forehead was dark and thoroughly soaked. Quinn tossed it aside and picked up the rest of the gauze, silently unrolling it and pressing it over the deep cut. The sirens got louder and louder. Finn walked shakily towards the sound as emergency lights flashed razor-bright in their eyes; Blaine held Kurt's hands tightly, linking their fingers together.

Suddenly there were lights in his face and EMTs yanking him out of the way, snapping their brisk indecipherable language of acronyms. They cut away what was left of Kurt's painstakingly sewn clothes, leaving him frail and vulnerable and scrawny in his slim-fitting boxers. Kurt didn't react at the vicious scissors, didn't react as they poked and prodded and plucked at his limp body. But they pulled him away from the comfort of Quinn's lap, of her soft soothing hands playing with his hair, and he let out a terrified, disoriented scream as his already hazy world shifted around him.

"Kurt, it'll be okay," Quinn said, but she sounded lost herself. Her glittering dress was dull and black with blood; she huddled on the pavement with her cold bare shoulders slumped in defeat.

Blaine realized with a terrified sinking of his stomach that they weren't alone. The other McKinley students huddled around them in a wide straggling half-circle, gasping and whispering and pointing.

"Stop it!" Blaine shouted, and they hushed for a moment. "Stop it! Stop fucking staring at him!"

The cops pushed past the barrier of cowering students, pulling Kurt's attackers away from Puck and Mike and Sam, snapping handcuffs, and reciting rights. Blaine tuned them out and turned away, covering his eyes.

Not again. He didn't want to do this again.

They strapped Kurt to a backboard, wrapping him in blankets and strapping him in tightly. An oxygen mask covered his face, an IV was jabbed in the crook of his arm. They lifted him up on the gurney, preparing to take him away. Finn stayed close, holding tight to Kurt's hand.

"Where's Kurt? Where's my son?"

Blaine's blood ran cold. He'd never heard someone scream like that before.

"Where the fuck is my son?" Burt Hummel bellowed, and he burst past the other students, taking in the blood on the pavement, the blood on Quinn's dress, the blood on Finn's hands, and Blaine watched his face turn white in a split second.

"Sir, you're going to have to stay back-"

"He's my son!" Burt shouted, and he pressed close, touching Kurt's hands, his face, his bare shoulders. "Kurt? Kurt, what did they do to you?"

"Sir-"

"What did they do to you?" Burt said, frantic to touch any part of his beloved child that he could reach. "Kurt, open your eyes and tell me you're okay. Please, baby. Open your eyes and tell me you're okay."

"Sir, we need to get him to the hospital. You need to calm down."

"They killed my son!" Burt shouted. He turned around to look at Kurt's tormenters, looking them full in the eyes in the white headlights. "You happy now? You happy now that you've killed my kid? His mom's dead, did you know that? I already lost his mom and now you've taken him from me too!"

Stunned silence fell thick and heavy across the crowd. Burt turned away, his head down, his hands deep in his pockets, and his shoulders gave a single shudder.

"He's not dead, Mr. Hummel," Quinn whispered, taking him by the arm. "He's not. He'll…he'll be okay."

They lifted Kurt into the ambulance and Burt shook her hand away to climb in after him. Blaine saw him take his child's hand, cradling it in both of his, and Kurt's fingers curled just the slightest bit.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****GOOD MORNING HAVE SOME ANGST.

I didn't get to update yesterday because life is crazy, but I'll be able to update all three of my drabble series today!

This one was an offshoot of a previous drabble, where Blaine was preparing for season 2 prom by stocking his pockets with emergency supplies, just in case history repeated itself. And then someone wanted to see what it would look like if the worst happened.

So here it is.

BRB, crying into my Oreos.


	218. Uncle Blaine

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Brantley yanked the front door open, beaming so widely it looked like his face was going to split in half. "I'm a daddy!" he shouted.<p>

"Yeah, we know," Blaine laughed, reaching to hug his brother-in-law. "Congratulations, Brant. How's the mama and baby doing?"

"They're both doing great," Brantley said. "The little man is fantastic. Super chill, champ at this whole breastfeeding thing, sleeps like a rock. And so cute. Cutest baby I've ever seen."

"We're so sad we missed the actual birth part," Kurt said. "We were planning on coming down from New York for it, but-"

"Yeah, the little guy just couldn't wait," Brantley said. "Hey, come on in. You don't have to stand out on the porch all day."

Blaine and Kurt followed Brantley into the house, setting down their gifts on the kitchen table. "And how's Francey doing?" Blaine asked. "Is she okay?"

A little bit of the glow dimmed in Brantley's expression. "As well as can be expected, I guess," he said. "Labor was really rough on her. And you know your sister, she's as tough as they come."

"Blaine said there were complications," Kurt said softly.

Brantley crossed his arms across his chest and nodded, looking down at the kitchen floor. "They had to induce labor because she was showing signs of pre-eclampsia," he admitted. "The birth was rough. Long labor, a lot of tearing…she started hemorrhaging and lost a lot of blood. They had to do an emergency hysterectomy." He looked back up, trying to smile. "She's all right now, but…looks like the little man's going to be an only child."

"How's she taking that?" Blaine asked in a hushed voice.

"She won't really talk about it," Brantley said. "I'm going to give it a while before I bring it up. We wanted a houseful of kids…so we might always look into adoption. Who knows?" He exhaled slowly and grinned at them. "Want to go see them?"

"Oh, definitely," Kurt said.

Brantley led them up the stairs to the master bedroom and peeked inside. "Fran? You awake, babe?"

"Uh-huh. Did you bring me something more entertaining than Netflix?"

Blaine nudged the door open and slipped past Brantley. Francey was sitting up in bed, dressed in loose pajamas with her dark curls tied up at the crown of her head. Her eyes lit up as her younger brother walked in. "Babbie!" she said, holding out her arms. "Aw, you are more entertaining than Netflix."

Blaine hugged her tightly. "Congratulations, Mama," he said.

Francey made a face and tugged lovingly on his earlobe. "Ugh, I don't know if I'm ready to be called Mama yet," she said. "If it wasn't for the pain in my ladyparts and the sudden utter lack of a watermelon-sized belly, I wouldn't actually believe I've given birth." She spotted Kurt in the doorway and beckoned to him. "Oh, good, you brought your boyf. Come here, Ducky, I deserve a hug."

Kurt zipped over to her and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "I hope your baby's cute," he teased. "I have a hard time lying about ugly babies."

"Hey, my kid is the fucking cutest thing to ever pop out of a vagina," Francey said, poking Kurt in the nose. "Cuter than Blaine, even. Definitely cuter than Cooper. Have you ever seen Cooper's baby pictures? He looked like a boiled, wrinkled tomato. Not cute at all."

"Speaking of Cooper, when's he coming in to town?" Blaine asked, snuggling into his sister's side like he did as a child.

Francey draped an arm around his shoulder. "His plane's coming in tomorrow," she said. "He was filming on location in Oregon for that Twilight knockoff movie and didn't have any cell service till this morning. He was so excited I thought he was going to pee himself."

"Speaking of peeing oneself, I'm going to go see if the baby needs to be changed," Brantley said. He pointed at Blaine and Kurt. "Just wait until you two have a baby. All they do in the early stages is poop, sleep, and cry."

"Sounds thrilling," Kurt remarked dryly.

"Oh, come on," Francey said, tucking an arm around his shoulders too. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about having some spawn of your own at some point."

"At some point," Blaine said.

"I'd like to be married first," Kurt countered. "I'm an old-fashioned sort of man."

Francey, who knew about the engagement ring hidden in the bottom of Blaine's sock drawer, shot him a wicked grin. Blaine cleared his throat. "I think Mom and Dad can only handle the excitement of one grandchild at once," he said.

"Oh, yeah, Mom is freaking out completely," Francey said. "She went out and bought every single item left on our baby registry. And she's having everything monogrammed." She turned to Kurt. "You don't understand. Our mom is southern. And southern moms are obsessed with monogramming."

"Everything we owned as children had our initials embroidered on it," Blaine sighed.

Brantley walked into the room, grinning broadly with a blue bundle in his arms. "Well, he didn't need to be changed, but I think he's ready to be cuddled and admired," he said.

Francey shifted positions and sat up. "I suppose I can be persuaded to hold him," she said, holding out her arms. Brantley handed her the baby and she cradled him close, smiling down at her three-day-old son. "Hey, cutie-face. Have a good nap?"

Blaine and Kurt peered over her shoulders. "He's so cute," Kurt cooed, reaching out to pet the baby's tiny knuckles with his fingertip. "Aw, look how tiny his hands are!"

"He's got so much hair," Blaine marveled.

"You've seen our baby pictures, Babbie," Francey said. "All the Anderson kids come out with a full head of curls. Beware, Kurt. If you let Blaine be the genetic daddy, you're going to have little sasquatches."

"Did you decide on a name?" Kurt asked, laughing a little as the baby yawned hugely.

"Well, it would have been easier if he had been a girl," Brantley sighed. "We had such a cute name picked out. Blakely Catherine. So adorable." He shot a side-eye at his wife. "This was, of course, after I talked Francey out of naming our daughter Roxy Layla Natasha."

"After Roxy Richter and Black Widow," Francey shrugged. "And Layla just sounds awesome."

"Roxy Layla Natasha Ford? She sounds like an exotic stripper."

"Anyways," Francey said. "We had it narrowed down to Jameson and Lewis, right?"

"I voted for Lewis," Blaine said.

Kurt frowned. "Jameson sounds classier," he said.

"She picked the name because of the whiskey," Brantley sighed.

"Anyways," Francey said, glaring at all three of them. The baby gurgled and her expression softened as she rocked him a little. "We didn't go with either of them."

"Really?" Kurt said.

"Really," Brantley said, adjusting the blanket around his little son. "He didn't look like a Jameson or a Lewis. Definitely not a Blakely or a Roxy."

"So, Uncle Kurt and Uncle Babbie," Francey said. "This is your nephew Zachary."

Blaine's jaw dropped. "You…you named him after me?" he gulped.

Francey smiled. "I kind of ruined your name when you were a baby, so some Anderson might as well get some use out of it," she said. She placed her newborn in Blaine's arms, prodding his arms into place. "Zachary Blaine Anderson, meet Zachary Harrison Ford."

Blaine was still staring at his tiny namesake. Kurt looked up and raised an eyebrow. "Harrison Ford?" he said.

Brantley shrugged. "She picked the middle name while she was still high on the epidural, and I was so excited I didn't even notice until the birth certificate was signed," he said. "But it's a pretty cool name. Better than Brantley Lancaster Ford IV."

"Anything's better than that," Kurt said. "No offense."

"None taken. It's an awful name."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****PRECIOUS FORD FAMILY.

I don't know if I've written about Brantley in Tumbled yet. I introduced him in a oneshot called The Sangria Incident. He and Francey started dating in college, dated off and on for a while, and got married pretty much as soon they graduated from medical school- they're both pediatricians, although she specializes in emergency pediatrics (a decision she made after Blaine's Sadie Hawkins dance).

(Someone accused me of making Brantley gay. I was like "...what?" I think it was because he named his beloved cocker spaniel Elizabeth Cady Stanton after the 19th century feminist.)

Also, Lilah Anderson totally raised her children as little southern angels- all their clothing was smocked and monogrammed out the ying-yang. Trust me, I'm from Tennessee. It's crazy how much baby things are embroidered and monogrammed.

Also, I really want to change Lilah's name again.

Again.

I want her to be named Hannah, I think.

Hannah seems to fit her better.

Also, I might have to write something about Brantley and Francey adopting. Their little Zack is four when Kurt and Blaine have their first child and seven when they have their second, and I think that when they see how happy Kurt and Blaine are with their two babies, they decide they want more. So when Zack is eight they start fostering. But I don't know how many babies they foster or adopt- just that they probably have a houseful!


	219. Bambi

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Why are you good at this?" Blaine complained, struggling to hold onto the railing.<p>

Kurt laughed, hands clasped behind his back as he skated backwards. "My mom used to take me when I was little," he said. "Didn't you ever go skating?"

"Yeah, with Francey," Blaine grumbled, trying to pull himself back up. "And she kept breaking bones, so we had to stop going."

"Aw, poor baby," Kurt cooed. "Here, hold my hand."

"I might as well just sit this out and wait," Blaine said. His knees wobbled as he clung to the rail. "I'm no good at this."

"Blaine Anderson, if I wanted to date an Olympic figure skater, I would have found one," Kurt said. He took Blaine's hand, lacing their gloved fingers together. "Now here. Let go of the railing and hold my hand."

"If I fall, you're going down with me," Blaine warned.

"It's fine, I won't break," Kurt said serenely. Blaine tentatively let go of the railing, his knees knocking together. "Now, push off and just glide a little bit. You don't have to worry about going fast, just worry about not falling."

Blaine obeyed, scrunching his nose in concentration. "There you go!" Kurt said, pleased. "Now just keep doing that. Nice and easy." He squeezed Blaine's hand. "I knew you'd be fine."

"Kurt. I've only gone forward about three feet."

"Yes, but you finally went three feet without falling. That's progress."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Precious boys are precious.


	220. Princes

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Blaine, honey bear, why are you crying?" Lilah asked, surprised. She scooped her small sobbing son up in her arms and hugged him tightly. "What's wrong?"<p>

"That's not a prince, Mama!" Blaine sobbed.

Lilah glanced back. Her nine-year-old daughter was still chatting excitedly with Cinderella while her teenage stepson stood by, arms folded across his chest, with Francey's autograph book in hand. The prince stood next to Cinderella, patiently answering the girl's myriad of questions. "What do you mean, that's not a prince?" she asked. "That's the prince from your Cinderella tape, remember?"

Blaine wailed into her shoulder. She closed her eyes and shifted the heavy six-year-old on her hip. "Don't cry, sweetheart," she said. "You're just hot and tired from walking around in the sun all day." She brushed his sweaty curls off his forehead. "Let's go get a lemonade, okay?"

"I wanted to meet a prince!" Blaine sobbed. "He doesn't look like a prince!"

"What is a prince supposed to look like, then?" she asked, slightly exasperated. She was already exhausted from taking the three kids through Disney World without Jack there to help, and Blaine had been a little whirlwind of energy all week. Now he was sobbing inconsolably, and all she wanted to was to hand him off to a babysitter and take a nap in the hotel.

"I wanted him to be my age!" Blaine wailed. "I wanted him to be my best friend! I just really want a best friend, Mama!"

Lilah paused. "Oh, honey," she sighed. She hugged him tightly. "Oh, honey, I know you don't like first grade yet, but you'll make friends. I promise."

"But I wanted to meet a prince and take him home with us so he could be my best friend!" Blaine cried.

Other parents were starting to stare as Blaine continued to throw a temper tantrum. Lilah settled her small son on his feet with a kiss on his cheek and tried to shush him. "Let's go get you a snack, sweet love," she said, smoothing his curls and taking his hot chubby hand. "Okay? I bet you're hungry."

She bought him a frozen lemonade and a pretzel, and he napped in his stroller during the parade, and she surprised him with the biggest Mickey Mouse plush toy she could find when he woke up. He perked up a little, shrieking with joy on the Dumbo ride and clinging to Francey on the Haunted Mansion and riding on Cooper's shoulders while they watched the fireworks show, his small hands tangled in his big brother's hair. He didn't say anything else about finding a prince, but when she changed her half-asleep little boy into his jammies and tucked him into bed between his two siblings, all she could think about was how lonely he was, and how unfair it had to be.

* * *

><p>"…and then the prince took the princess with him back to his palace, and they were married, and they all lived happily ever after," Mollie read softly. Her little son nestled closer to her, his blue eyes wide as he studied the picture in the storybook. He was sucking on his thumb again, but she didn't have the heart to take that small comfort away from him. She kissed the top of his head. "The end."<p>

Kurt wriggled on her lap in protest as she closed the book. "Again," he pleaded. "Pleathe, Mommy, again?"

"No, precious," she said. "Daddy's going to be done talking to the doctors soon, and then he's going to take you home."

Kurt frowned around his thumb. "Are you coming with us?" he asked.

"I have to stay in the hospital, sweetheart," she reminded him gently.

Kurt pulled his thumb out of his mouth, wiping it on his sleeve, and crawled onto her knees until he was pressed up tight against her, his head on her shoulder and his arms around her neck. She kissed him softly. He'd been acting more babyish lately- sucking his thumb, insisting on being held and carried, even reverting back to the lisp he'd nearly outgrown. Burt had said he'd had a lot of nightmares lately too. One night he'd woken up to find Kurt sleepwalking in the middle of his room; another he'd found that Kurt had wet the bed- something he hadn't done in years.

Mollie closed her eyes and hugged her precious son tighter. Her illness and her hospitalization was wreaking havoc on him. She didn't want to think about what might happen if…well, she didn't like to think about it at all.

"Mommy?" Kurt questioned, his small fingers petting and smoothing her long soft hair.

She kissed his palm. "What, baby?" she asked.

"Are fairy taleth real?" he asked.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Do you think fairy tales are real?"

"I don't know," he said. "I jutht want to meet a printh."

"A what?"

"A prince," he corrected, nuzzling his cheek against hers.

"Why do you want to meet a prince?" she asked.

Kurt was thoughtfully silent for a moment. "Because princes fix things," he said. "Princes always come when bad things are going to happen and they fix them. And they're really nice. And they have the best kisses."

Mollie hid a smile. "They have the best kisses?" she said.

"Yeah, because when they kiss the princess, it makes everything okay," Kurt said. He frowned. "But…but Mommy? Can a prince kiss another prince?"

"I don't see why not," she said. She nibbled little kisses against the curve of his cheek. "Is that what you want, baby?"

"Uh-huh."

"Then I'm sure you'll find a lovely prince of your very own to take care of you," she said, making a mental note to add another letter to her box- _read this on the day you come out._

Kurt cuddled against her, all sunny smiles. "I love you, Mommy," he said sweetly. "Do you love me?"

"Of course," she said. She rocked him against her chest, breathing in the sweet baby shampoo smell of his hair. "I'll always love you, baby. Always, always."

* * *

><p>Blaine fiddled with the lock of their New York apartment and let himself in. "Kurt? I'm home," he called softly.<p>

The lights were all off and no one answered, but he wasn't exactly surprised. Kurt had texted him a few hours earlier to tell him that he was sick and leaving work early. That had been enough to put him in a panic- Kurt never admitted to being sick.

"Kurt?" he said as he set his briefcase down and shrugged out of his coat. Kurt's jacket and shoes were strewn across the floor; the tie he'd worn that morning was draped across the back of the couch.

He tiptoed lightly to their bedroom door and tapped it open. His young husband was asleep in their bed, stripped down to a slim white undershirt and boxer briefs. The sheets and blankets were tangled around his legs and one arm was flung up over his head. His soft hair was tousled and his cheeks were flushed fever- pink.

Blaine knelt down beside the bed and stroked Kurt's forehead. Kurt slept deeply, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling in steady even breaths. Blaine tugged the cool sheets free and draped them over Kurt, tucking him in gently, then leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, slow and sweet and deep.

Kurt's long lashes fluttered a little, revealing the slightest hint of his feverishly blue eyes. "Hi, Sleeping Handsome," Blaine whispered, smiling at him. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," Kurt sighed, sliding a little closer, his hands cupped under his cheeks. He smiled hazily. "If I'm Sleeping Beauty, does that mean you're my prince?"

"I guess it does," Blaine smiled, stroking Kurt's hot forehead. He touched his cheek to Kurt's. "And you're mine."

"Always?" Kurt murmured.

"Always."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****BRB, ROLLING IN ADORABLE KLAINE FEELS.

lakjdsklfjdskl. They're so cute.

I always feltlike Blaine had a lot of friends as a child, but not a _close _friend. He was obsessed with finding the Perfect Best Friend when he was little. And he was spoiled a bit growing up, but getting attention from your mother and sister isn't the same as winning your older brother's affection or catching his loving-but-distant father's attention.

And then sweet Kurt, on the brink of losing his beloved mommy...ugh, it hurts my heart. Of course he would want some kind of hero to swoop in and make everything better.

Luckily they meet and fall in love and become each other's heroes.

Happy sighs of contentment all around!


	221. BooBoos and Kisses

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine stuck his lower lip out in a fierce pout. "I don't like this," he announced.<p>

"Why not?" Kurt asked, bouncing happily on his swing.

Blaine dug the toe of his bright green sneaker in the dirt. "I don't like it when my daddy takes me to the playground," he said. "It's not as fun as when my mama takes me."

"But daddies are fun," Kurt said, perplexed. "My daddy took me to the park today 'cause Mommy wasn't feeling good, so he took me to play and then we're going out for ice cream and then we're going to bring dinner home to my mommy." He pumped his little legs harder and waved enthusiastically towards the picnic tables. "Daddy! Hi, Daddy! Hi!"

The baseball-capped man at the table waved back, grinning at him.

"Yeah, but your daddy plays with you and stuff," Blaine grumbled. "My daddy just…" His voice trailed off. His father was pacing near the parked cars, talking on his phone. He was dressed casually in a polo shirt and khaki shorts, but he still seemed out of place in the park, as if he belonged in an office in a suit instead. "My daddy's not fun." He kicked at the dirt. "I wish my mama hadn't gone to see my nana."

"Well, you have me to play with," Kurt suggested. He brightened. "Wanna play-"

"No," Blaine sulked, crossing his arms over his little chest. "My daddy promised he was gonna play with me. I'm gonna wait till he stops talking on his phone."

Kurt pouted. "But _I _wanted to play with you," he objected.

"Nope!" Blaine said. He clambered up the monkey bars and perched himself on the top. "I'm gonna wait."

Kurt stuck out his tongue. "I'm mad at you," he announced. He skidded to a stop and jumped off the swing, jamming his hands on his hips. "If you're not gonna play with me, I'm gonna go play in the sandbox."

"Fine," Blaine retorted.

Kurt waited for a moment, watching longingly for Blaine to change his mind, but finally just stomped his foot and ran off towards the sandbox. Blaine swung his legs back and forth, scowling in his father's direction.

"Daddy," he whined. "Daaaaaddy." He kicked his legs harder. "Daddy!"

He kicked so hard that he lost his balance and slid off the monkey bars, tumbling to the ground and skidding on the rough concrete. For a terrified second he just blinked in confusion, and then he burst into startled tears.

"Blaine? Blaine!" Kurt ran across the concrete, nearly tripping over his own shoes. "Blaine! What did you do?" he shrieked.

"I fell," Blaine sobbed. "It hurts!"

Kurt dropped to his knees beside him and examined Blaine's scraped forearms. "It's okay, it's okay," he said, petting Blaine's curls.

"My knee hurts really bad!" Blaine wailed, pushing it in Kurt's face. "I'm bleeding, Kurt!"

Kurt dug around in his pocket for a tissue and dabbed it gently on Blaine's scraped knee. "You're gonna be okay, I promise," he said. Blaine wiped at his running nose with the back of his hand. "Ew! Don't do that! Here, I got another tissue." He pulled it out of his pocket and held it over Blaine's nose, frowning. "Blow."

Blaine obeyed. Kurt crumpled up the snotty tissue and dropped it on the asphalt beside them. "It hurts," Blaine sniffled. "I want my mama."

"I know, but-"

"I want my mama!" Blaine interrupted, his eyes welling up with tears. He poked at his bloody scraped knee. "I want Mama!"

"No, no, stop it!" Kurt said. "Here. I'll fix it."

He cleaned up as much blood as he could manage, then leaned over and kissed Blaine's knee. Blaine, startled, stopped crying. "Why'd you kiss me?" he asked curiously.

"That's how my mommy fixes my boo-boos," Kurt said.

Blaine giggled. "You call them boo-boos?" he said.

"Hey!" Kurt protested. "It's not silly!" He frowned. "If you laugh at me, I won't give you any more kisses."

"Okay, okay, I won't laugh," Blaine promised, properly chastised. He held out his arms. "I have a boo-boo on my elbow too."

Kurt leaned in and kissed the scratch on his elbow. "Is that better?" he asked.

"Yeah, now it feels a lot better," Blaine said.

"Blaine? Are you okay, squirt?"

Blaine looked up and smiled at his father. "Hi, Daddy," he said. "I'm okay."

Jack scooped him up, checking the scrapes on his arms and legs. "You're sure you're okay?" he said. He hugged him tightly. "Don't scare me like that, Blainey."

"It's okay, Daddy, Kurt took care of me," Blaine said.

Jack stood up, balancing Blaine on his hip. "Thanks, kiddo," he said, ruffling Kurt's hair affectionately. "I'm going to take this little guy home, okay? I'll talk to your dad and see if you can come over and play tomorrow."

Kurt brightened. "Okay!" he said.

Blaine threw his arms happily around his father's neck. "Bye, Kurt," he said, waving at him happily. Kurt waved back. "Daddy, can we go get ice cream? Just the two of us?"

"Let me get you patched up first, squirt," Jack said, brushing gravel off Blaine's clothes. "Then we can get ice cream."

Blaine nestled closer. "And Daddy?" he said. "Can you…can you kiss my owies? Kurt says it'll make them better."

Jack laughed softly and nuzzled his hair. "I will kiss your owies," he promised.

Sighing with contentment, Blaine rested his cheek on his father's shoulder and allowed himself to be carried to the car.

* * *

><p>Kurt hid his face in the crook of his father's neck, his small hand holding tightly to the shoulder of his shirt. "You all right?" Burt asked. He rubbed Kurt's back. "Your tummy still hurts?"<p>

"Yeah," Kurt said softly. He cuddled closer to the warmth of his father's chest. His daddy's snuggles had been few and far between since his mommy had died a few months earlier, but ever since he'd gotten sick a few nights ago and had to go to the hospital, his daddy had barely put him down. Now he was sitting on his daddy's lap on the couch, cuddled up warm and tight in his baby blanket.

Burt stroked his fingers through Kurt's silky hair; Kurt quietly tucked his thumb in his mouth and started sucking on it, his index finger resting beside his nose. "You want me to get you anything?" Burt asked. "Do you just want to sleep?"

Kurt nodded. Burt kissed the top of his head and shifted around so he was lying down on the couch, nestled back against the thick pillows. "Take a little nap then, scooter," he said, tucking the blanket around him. "You call me if you need me, okay?"

Kurt nodded and leaned up just far enough to kiss his father on the cheek. "Love you, Daddy," he murmured.

"I love you too, baby," Burt said. "Love you too. Have a good sleep."

Kurt closed his eyes obediently as his daddy turned off the movie and closed the blinds. Within minutes he was fast asleep, his thumb slipping a little from his lips.

He woke up sluggishly to find a pair of golden-hazel eyes peeking at him. "Kurt?" Blaine said, worrying at his lower lip. "Kurt, are you okay?"

Kurt rubbed his eyes sleepily. "Uh-huh," he mumbled.

Blaine crept a little closer. "My mommy brought me over to visit," he said. "And she brought dinner for you and your daddy."

"Okay," Kurt murmured, slipping his thumb back into his mouth.

Blaine crawled beside him on the couch and reached out to tentatively touch Kurt's hair. "You're all hot and sweaty," he commented.

"I'm sick," Kurt retorted. He shifted around against the pillows, holding on tightly to the hem of his blankie. "There was something bad in my tummy that made me really sick so they had to take it out."

Blaine bit his lip. "Kurt, I was scared," he whispered. "Your daddy called my mama and said you were in the hospital and I was scared. I thought you were going to die."

Kurt's eyes welled up and he pulled his blanket over his head. He didn't want to think about it anymore, about how scared he had been and how badly he wanted his mother to come and fix it.

"Wait, wait, no, Kurt, I'm sorry," Blaine pleaded. He pulled the blanket away and petted Kurt's hot cheek. "Please don't cry. I'm sorry."

"I was scared too," Kurt whimpered. "I want my mommy really badly, Blaine. But Daddy said she's in heaven and she can't come take care of me, but…but Blaine, my mommy never told Daddy that you have to kiss things to make them better. So I'm never going to get better. And I want to get better!"

Blaine scratched the back of his neck. "What hurts?" he asked.

"My tummy," Kurt sniffled. "I'm gonna have a really big ugly scar, and it hurts."

Blaine scooted closer. "I'll fix it," he offered. He tugged on the hem of Kurt's pajama and lifted it carefully to reveal the red line and little black stitches. "Oh. Oh, that it looks like hurts."

"It does," Kurt said, biting on the pad of his thumb. "I told you."

Blaine leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Kurt's soft belly, just above the stitching line. "There," he said, satisfied. "Now I've kissed it, and it's going to get better." He tugged Kurt's shirt back down and laid down beside him, pulling Kurt's baby blanket up around their shoulders. "Did that help?"

"Uh-huh," Kurt said, snuggling against Blaine's shoulder. Blaine sighed, happy and relieved, and cuddled him close.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I'm back with all the baby feels!

If you were wondering where'd I run off to, and you don't follow me on tumblr, don't be alarmed! I'm a high school theater teacher and our show was this weekend. So in the weeks leading up to it, I was literally going INSANE. You have no idea. It was crazy. But on the upside, they did VERY well and everyone seemed very pleased and my kids are literally the sweetest bunch in the world and I love them all.

And now I'm back to write things!

My darling Aubrey prompted this one. Literally, her prompt was "baby!Klaine kissing better of booboos." And I ran with it! And she was pleased! And it turned out adorable (I think!).

So yeah!

Back to my regularly scheduled updating, I suppose!


	222. Aunt Sue

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Oh, she's so cute!" Tina cooed, touching the tip of her finger lightly to the baby's nose.<p>

"Isn't she?" Finn said proudly. He was practically oozing with big brother pride. "She's the prettiest baby in the world."

"Here, let me hold her for a bit," Kurt said, reaching to take the blanket-wrapped little bundle. His baby sister waved her tiny fist at him, scrunching up her little fists as she prepared to cry. "No, no, sh, little Emily." He jostled her lightly, patting her back. "It's okay. It's okay, princess."

"Porcelain!"

Kurt jumped. Sue Sylvester stuck her head out of her office and beckoned to him. "Come here," she said. He nodded and started to hand the baby back to Finn. "No, no, bring it with you."

Kurt swallowed hard and hugged his little sister tighter to his chest as he followed Sue into her office. She closed the door behind them and held out her arms. "Let me hold the little nugget," she said.

"You want to…what?" Kurt stammered.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, I'm not going to eat it," Sue said. She beckoned and Kurt, dazed, placed the precious bundle gingerly in Sue's arms. She held the baby easily. "So. Your elderly parents thought they were too old to need protection, hm?"

Kurt flushed an awkward pink. "The baby was a surprise," he said.

"Boy or girl?"

"Girl."

"Name?"

"Emily Carys Hudson-Hummel."

"She'll be six before she can spell it," Sue snorted. She looked from the baby to Kurt and back. "She doesn't much look like you."

"No, she looks more like my dad, I think," Kurt said. He reached over and touched the baby's cheek, smiling when she grabbed sleepily at his finger.

"That's usually the way it works," Sue said. "Little girls look like their fathers, little boys look like their mothers." She petted the baby's light brush of brown hair. "You look more and more like you mother the older you get."

Kurt blinked. "I do?" he said, startled. "You…you knew my mother?"

Sue nodded towards one of the framed Cheerios squad photos hanging on the wall. "Mollie Melrose was one of those insufferably good people that I just can't stand," she said. "But she was one of the best cheerleading captains this school has ever had."

Curious, Kurt crept a little closer to the photograph. He spotted his mother easily, a pretty blue-eyed teenager with long loose strawberry-blonde waves hanging over her shoulders. "Ah, yes, the 1993-1994 school year," Sue reminisced, still idly rocking the baby. "The Cheerios won Nationals. Your mother came up with that routine. Then again, she didn't get to compete with us, and I took credit for the victory. Sweet, sweet victory."

"Why didn't she compete?" Kurt asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"Doesn't April of 1994 ring a bell? She was pregnant with you." Sue looked over at the picture. "She was probably already knocked up when that photo was taken." She shook her head sadly. "She had everything going for her. College offers, scholarships, all sorts of plans. I told her she was making a mistake going through with it. She wouldn't listen. For all of her syrupy-sweet saintness, she was as stubborn as…well, as I am. Told me in no uncertain terms that she was keeping her baby and that I could stick my opinion up my ass."

Kurt grinned. "Sounds like my mother," he said.

"I was disappointed to hear that she died so young," Sue said. "She didn't deserve it. And you didn't deserve to grow up without a mother. Believe me, I grew up with a mother who might as well have been dead with the amount of attention she paid me." The baby fussed a little, Kurt picked up her pacifier and tucked it in her mouth. "I didn't even realize you were Mollie Melrose's little boy until you joined the Cheerios and I ran your background check."

She reached out and touched Kurt's cheek very, very lightly with the tips of her fingers. "I'm sorry I didn't do more to help you when Karofsky was making your life a living hell," she said. "But I'll do what I can for you. For your mother's sake. And I'll keep an eye on this little one, too. I'm sure she'll make a fine Cheerio."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****This has always been one of my little pet headcanons- that Sue and Mollie had both been Cheerios, and kind of rivals, but Sue had always had a lot of secret respect for her. And then she found out that Kurt was Mollie Melrose's baby, all grown up, and she tried to keep an eye out for him. And that's why she was so involved with him in Grilled Cheesus, and with the Karofsky situation- she felt like she owed it to Mollie to make sure her little boy was okay.

I don't know. It made sense in my head...


	223. The Broken Arm Incident

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>He loved his bicycle.<p>

It was the best birthday present a seven-year-old could ask for. It was teal, with streamers on the handles and little spangles on the wheels. He had a sneaking suspicion that his dad picked the teal one, instead of the pink he had _really _liked, but that his mother had picked out the streamers.

He knew he wasn't supposed to ride his bike without his dad there. Dad said he wasn't a very good bike rider yet, that he needed more practice on a two-wheeler before he could ride around the neighborhood. But he _really _wanted to ride it.

So he snuck out to the shed behind the house and wheeled his bicycle out into the sunshine. His dad was in the garage, tinkering with his old pickup truck, and his mother was in the basement playing the piano. He could go for a quick ride without them noticing. They were always pestering him to go play outside, anyways.

He strapped on his helmet, put his left foot on the pedal, and hopped on the bicycle. It quivered underneath him, but he pushed hard on the pedals and wobbled past the house and down the street.

He purposefully chose to go left. If he went to the right, he would have to go past his father, and his father would _not _be happy to see him disobeying a direct order.

His new big-kid bicycle was so much better than his old one. It was too little for him now, and it still had the training wheels, and it was red and blue with Spiderman on it. Dad had picked that one out.

He rolled down the street, pedaling furiously, picking up speed. The wind ruffled the collar of his button-up shirt, and he grinned, standing up on the pedals as he zipped down the hill.

Unfortunately, the path curved. And Kurt didn't.

His front tire rolled off the concrete and hit the dirt on the side of the road. The bicycle halted, and he flipped over the handlebars, landing hard on the concrete.

He must have blacked out for a second, but he found himself staring up into the sky, unable to catch his breath. His head ached, and his arm throbbed unbearably. With shaking fingers he unfastened the strap on his helmet and let it fall off.

He looked over at his arm. His right hand was bent at a funny angle, the bones poking at the skin, and his breath caught in his throat. Somehow he managed to push it out as a strangled scream.

"Daddy!" he shouted. "Mommy! Daddy!"

Nobody heard him. His dad was too far away, and he had no choice but to crawl to his feet and try to get up the hill to the house. If he could just make it to the house, he would be okay.

He bit his lip hard, digging his teeth sharply, and trudged up the hill, clutching his aching arm to his stomach. The bike he left behind. He could always come back for it later.

Or maybe he wouldn't come back for it. He'd probably just fall off it again, anyways.

It had only taken ten or fifteen minutes to ride down the hill, but it took hours and hours to get back up. He tried not to look at his arm; it only made him feel worse. And he was already feeling so strange- sort of queasy, and his vision had gone all funny.

Finally he was in front of his own house. The garage door was open, and he could hear his dad singing tunelessly along with the radio. "Dad," he called weakly, his voice sounding small and scared in his own ears. "Daddy?"

The radio turned down. "Hey, Kurt," his dad called back. "You want to help me out with this carburetor?"

He slumped against the mailbox, holding onto it tightly. "Daddy," he whimpered. "Daddy, I…I fell."

His dad walked out of the garage, wiping his hands on an old towel. "Kurt, what's wrong?" he said.

The relief at the sight of his father overwhelmed him. He lost his grip on the mailbox and tumbled forward, falling hard on the concrete driveway onto his already injured arm, hearing his dad shouting his name as he passed out.

He opened his eyes a second later to see his father leaning over him. "Kurt? Kurt, kiddo, oh my god, what did you do?" Burt said. "No, no, don't try to sit up. Just lie down." He rested a hand on Kurt's chest and leaned back. "Mollie! Mollie, come out here!"

Kurt struggled to sit up. "Daddy, it hurts," he whimpered. "It-"

He caught sight of his arm. The bones in his wrist were jutting out; blood dripped onto the pavement and his clothes. He screamed in terror.

"Don't look at it, Kurt, just close your eyes," Burt entreated. "Sh, sh, don't look."

"My arm broke! My arm broke!" he screamed. "Daddy, Daddy, it's broken!"

"I know, just don't look at it," Burt begged. He glanced back over his shoulder. "Mollie, you'd better come quick!'

"Why? What's-"

"Mommy!" Kurt wailed, stretching out his good hand. "Mommy, Mommy, I fell!"

In a second his mother gathered him into her lap. "It's all right, Kurt, it's all right," she said, rocking him gently. He clung to her in terrified desperation; she smoothed his hair away from his forehead. "Mommy's here, precious." She leaned his head against her shoulder. "Burt, we need to get him to the hospital."

Burt knelt down beside them and wrapped a clean towel loosely around Kurt's arm. "Here, you sit in the back and hold him," he said. "I'll drive."

Kurt grabbed onto his father's shoulder as Burt swept him up. "Daddy, Daddy, I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I didn't mean to."

"It's all right, scooter, don't cry," he said. Mollie climbed into the car and held out her arms; Burt handed him off and she cuddled him close. "We'll be at the hospital in just a little bit, okay? Hold on to Mommy."

He buried his face in Mollie's shoulder, his chest heaving. His mother held him tightly, running her fingers anxiously through his hair and pressing kisses to his forehead and cheeks. "What happened, baby?" she asked. "How did you get hurt?"

"I fell," he sobbed. "I rode my bicycle down the hill and I fell and I'm sorry."

Burt sighed. "I told you not to ride your bike without me, scooter," he said. "You're not real good at riding a two-wheeler yet."

"I know!" Kurt wailed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Daddy!"

"We forgive you, precious, it's all right," Mollie soothed. "We know you're sorry. And you'll never do it again, will you?"

"No, no, I promise," Kurt whimpered into her shoulder. "It hurts, Mommy. I want it to be better. And…and I want my blanket. And Ariel. I wanna go home. Please, Mommy, I wanna go home."

"We have to take you to the doctor so your arm can get fixed up, little darling," she said. She kissed him again. "We'll be home soon. I promise."

They weren't back home as soon as he thought. The nurse poked and prodded at him and took a thousand x-rays; his mother held him on her lap as much as she could and his father yelled at the doctors for not being gentle enough. They had to cut his shirt off because they couldn't get it off over his arm and he cried so hard he almost made himself sick. Finally they gave him something that made him sag in his mother's arms, sedate and sleepy, and they put his arm back together. It seemed like they were there for years, but finally they were on their way back, his little wrist encased in a lavender cast.

"What do you want for dinner tonight, buddy?" Burt asked as he backed out of their parking space.

"I don't know," Kurt said, huddling closer to the safety of his mother's chest. "My tummy feels funny."

"They gave him some pretty strong painkillers, Burt, he's probably not going to want to eat much," Mollie said, stroking Kurt's hair. "What about some strawberries, honey? Just a little something?"

"Okay," Kurt sighed. "My arm hurts, Mommy."

"I know, precious, I know," she said. She kissed his forehead. "My poor baby."

Kurt nestled in her arms, his broken arm pressed against his stomach. His dad kept glancing over at him worriedly. "We're almost home, kiddo," he said, reaching over to squeeze Kurt's narrow knee. "Just a little bit longer."

Kurt tugged a silky lock of his mother's hair over his shoulder and tangled it around his fingers. Mollie cuddled him, humming under her breath as she rocked him. The car ride was silent, without even the usual staticky twang of the radio.

"Okay, buddy, we're home," Burt said as he pulled into the driveway. "You want me to carry you in?" He was already climbing out of the driver's seat and reaching into the backseat to pick him up. "Here we go. Let's get you inside."

Kurt leaned heavily on his dad's broad shoulders, resting his cheek in the thick flannel of his shirt. "Burt, I can carry him," his mother protested, her hand still resting protectively against Kurt's thigh.

"You've been holding him all afternoon, Moll, let me have a chance," Burt said. Kurt sniffled a little, wiping his nose surreptitiously on the collar of his dad's shirt. "Hey, now, bud, don't cry. We're not mad at you. And you learned your lesson, right? You won't go riding your bike around the neighborhood without Mommy or Daddy?"

"No," Kurt said in a small voice. "I won't. I promise."

Burt lowered him carefully onto the couch. Mollie was beside him in an instant, untying his shoes and tugging off his socks. "Burt, can you go get his pajamas?" she asked. "And his blanket, and-"

"I know, I know," Burt said, bending to kiss first the top of her head, then Kurt's cheek. "You take care of the little guy, I'll run the errands."

Mollie squeezed Kurt's foot lightly. "I think you've had enough adventure for one day," she said. She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. "Do you want to take a nap?"

"No," Kurt said slowly. "I'm sleepy, but I don't want to go to sleep." He opened and closed the fingers of his good hand, frowning at them. "My hand looks funny."

She bent to kiss his palm. "Your hand is fine, precious boy," she said. She grinned at him. "You're funny when you're all doped up."

He poked her nose. "You're funny," he said.

She laughed and snuggled him close, blowing a light raspberry against his cheek until he giggled a little, high and faint. "I'm so glad you're all right, KK," she whispered. "I don't know what I would do without you."

He pressed a penitent kiss to her cheek and she sighed deeply, her arms tight around him and her nose buried in his hair. "I love you so much, baby."

"Love you, Mommy," he echoed.

She sat up and smiled at him. "Look, Daddy brought your blanket," she said.

"And Ariel, and Teddy Graham," Burt added, his arms laden with toys. "And your pajamas. You want me to cut up some strawberries for you?" Kurt nodded, already reaching for the soft comfort of his blanket.

"And can you put in a movie?" Mollie asked. "What do you want to watch, honey?"

"I don't know," Kurt shrugged, his thumb already meandering towards his mouth.

His dad ended up picking Peter Pan, and Kurt spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on his mother's lap on the couch, his thumb tucked in his mouth and his arms tight around his doll and his bear and his blanket. Mollie cuddled him to his heart's content, feeding him bits of strawberries and occasionally kissing the top of his head, until he fell asleep at last, and Burt carried him to his room and tucked him snugly into bed, his newly-casted arm resting on a pillow.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

HERE HAVE SOME CUDDLES!

My schedule is finally calming down, thank goodness, so I should be able to go back to a regular posting schedule of some kind. Seriously, things have been downright berserk around here. I just finished the show with my kids, and now I have to write a reader's theater adaptation of A Christmas Carol for my students to perform on fine arts night this Thursday, and I have to get them ready for exams...

alskfjl. So tired. I just finished Thanksgiving break and I'm still so tired!

But anyways.

Hopefully things will get back to normal around here soon!

Also, fun fact: this is pretty much EXACTLY how I cracked my skull when I was eleven.

My best friend was this crazy daredevil kid who rode his mountain bike like a madman with no shoes and no helmet EVER, and I always followed along on my little green and pink and purple My Girl bike that came with a matching hot pink waterbottle in the matching fanny pack, trundling along with a sedate pace with my purple tie dye helmet buckled on securely.

The ONE TIME in my life I rode without a helmet, my front tire hit a patch of grass and I flipped off and cracked my skull. It was the fourth of July, too, so that night while everyone else was running around with sparklers or swimming, I had to sit by my mom because she wanted make sure that I wouldn't die.

I have a bad habit of getting injured on holidays.

The Christmas I was thirteen I went paintballing in the empty lot behind my grandparents' house on Christmas Eve with my cousins and accidentally stepped backwards onto a rusty nail. I kept crying not because it hurt, but because I knew it would be a huge inconvenience to everyone to take me to the ER on Christmas Eve. Priorities. I do not have them.

(They didn't take me to the ER and I didn't feel quite so guilty, but I limped for a while.)


	224. The Letter

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>It was finally beginning to sink into Will's brain that maybe this hadn't been the best plan after all.<p>

It had seemed like such a good idea at the time. Mother's Day was that Sunday, and asking the kids to prepare a song that reminded them of their mother seemed like a natural choice. And some of them were great. Mike, Mercedes, and Sam all had great numbers. Even Finn mumbling through "Baby Mine" (apparently his mom sang it when he was a baby) was cute, in a second-hand embarrassment way.

Then Quinn sang "You're So Vain" by Carly Simon, and Will suddenly remembered that not all of his students had great relationships with their mothers.

And then Puck followed her up with "The Bitch Song" by Bowling for Soup.

And then Rachel sang a rousing rendition of "Maybe" from Annie.

_Maybe this was a bad idea, _Will thought, squirming uncomfortably. He picked another name out of the hat. "Kurt, your turn," he said.

It wasn't until Kurt was standing in front of the class, hands clasped behind his back, that Will remembered with a start that _oh, yeah, his mother is dead._

He was half-tempted to just call the assignment off when Kurt cleared his throat. "As some of you remember, my mother, Mollie Hummel, passed away when I was eight years old," he said. "She-"

He faltered and looked at Blaine, who nodded at him and smiled warmly.

"She was one of the most amazing women to ever live," he said. He spoke quietly, but the entire room had fallen silent to listen to him. "I still think about her, every day. My dad does too." He rose up on his toes, taking a deep breath. "She wrote a whole box of letters for me before she died- one for every birthday and every big event that she knew would happen without her." He smiled a little. "I still have about thirty letters that I haven't opened yet."

Will glanced over at the other kids. Blaine was leaning forward on his elbows, nodding encouragingly, and Finn was smiling at Kurt, his eyes a little wet in the corners. "My dad took me to see Billy Elliot when it came through on tour, and it just…it was almost like the story of my life." He paused. "Well, if I was the son of a Welsh coal miner in the eighties, but still. You get the idea."

He turned around and beckoned to someone in the hall; a petite redheaded girl in a private school uniform walked in and gave a little wave. "So I'm going to sing 'The Letter' from Billy Elliot," he said. "My friend Lucy is going to help, playing Billy's mother, and Blaine is too."

Blaine got up and stood beside Kurt. Lucy sat down on the piano bench next to Brad. "I brought a letter," Kurt said.

"I can see it's a letter," Blaine said. He reached over to squeeze Kurt's elbow, clearly more concerned with supporting his boyfriend than staying in character.

"It's from my mom."

"Your mom?"

"She wrote it for when I was eighteen, but I couldn't wait," Kurt said. "You can read it if you'd like. Go on, read it out."

Blaine kept his hand on Kurt's elbow. "Dear Billy," he said quietly. "I must seem like a very distant memory."

He paused. "Which is," Kurt prompted.

"Which is probably a good thing," Blaine said. "And it would have been a long…"

"Long time," Kurt said. He looked up at the back wall, not meeting anyone's eyes. "And I'll have missed you growing, and I'll have missed you crying, and I'll have missed you laugh."

He smiled a little bit, gazing into the distance. "Missed your stomping and your shouting," he sang quietly, his voice carrying through the room, clarion clear. "And I'll have missed telling you off. But please, Billy, know that I was always there…I was with you through everything. And please, Billy…"

His voice faltered. Blaine tucked an arm around his waist. "And please, Billy," he sang, picking up where Kurt left off. "Know that I will always be proud to have known you- proud that you were mine, proud in everything." Kurt still gazed at the back wall, his eyes too bright. "And you must promise me this, Billy…"

The redheaded girl at the piano took a deep breath, her hands knotted on her knees. "In everything you do, always be yourself," she sang. "And you always will be true." She smiled at Kurt. "And I'll have missed you growing, and I'll have missed you crying, and I'll have missed you laugh."

Blaine joined in, harmonizing beautifully with Lucy's sweet voice. "Missed your stomping and your shouting…I'll have missed telling you off. But please Billy, know that I was always there. I was with you through everything. And please Billy, know that I will always be proud to have known you."

"Love you forever," Lucy sang alone.

Kurt's lips tilted in a half-smile. "Love you forever," he sang back.

Blaine gave Kurt a final gentle squeeze and sat back down. Lucy stood up and crossed over to Kurt, taking him by the hand. "Bye, Mum," Kurt said. "See you soon."

"I don't think so," she said. "Do you?"

"No," he admitted. "But I wrote you a letter."

"A letter?"

"A reply," he said. "It's a bit crumpled." He squeezed her hand, still looking at the far wall. "And please, Mummy…know that I will always be proud to have known you- proud that you were mine, proud in everything…And I promise you this, Mummy…"

The sound caught in his throat. "In everything you do, always be yourself," Lucy sang, cradling his hand in both of hers.

"Mummy…and I always will be true," Kurt said.

Lucy held his hand close to her heart. "Love you forever."

"Love you forever," Kurt echoed, his voice breaking.

"Love you forever."

The room was silent except for the gentle piano outro. Kurt covered his eyes with his free hand, his shoulders giving one hard shake. Lucy touched her cheek to his knuckles. And the song was over for a full minute before the little audience could pull themselves together to stand up and clap.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****ALL THE DELICIOUSLY SAPPY FEELS HURRAY!

I discovered Billy Elliot (the musical version) and fell in LOVE. I already loved the movie, but the musical is amazing, especially the finale of act I.

And then I heard this song, and I was like "welp, all the Kurt feels!"

So I wrote this and wallowed in feels.

And _of course _Schue would have them sing songs about their moms, especially when Quinn's mom turned her out of the house for being pregnant and Puck's mom is totally not a part of his life, really, and Rachel's mom flat out told her she doesn't really want anything to do with her and Kurt's mother is _dead_. Yeah, nice move, Schue.

I hate Schue.

Also, at some point I'm going to write ALL THE LETTERS that Mollie wrote for Kurt. And it will be a feels fiesta.


	225. Wisdom Teeth

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Now, Blaine, before you go in there," Carole said. "I have to warn you. He really did mean it when he said you shouldn't come over."<p>

"But I'm his boyfriend," Blaine said plaintively. "He wouldn't let me come for the surgery, he wouldn't let me help him get settled at home, he-"

"Blaine, sweetie, he feels terrible and looks worse, and he really doesn't want anyone to see him until he gets a little better," Carole said.

"How bad is it?" Blaine asked. "Is he-"

Finn stuck his head out of his bedroom door. "It looks like he lost a fight with a lawnmower," he said solemnly.

"Finn Christopher!"

"What? You know it's true, Mom," Finn said. "And he's been extra cranky because of it. He made me go out to get him ice cream."

"That's not so-"

"At eight o'clock this morning. He woke me up to make me get it. And he wouldn't let me have the keys to the Nav. I had to walk to Kroger in my pajamas."

"Well-"

"And do you know what's making him extra cranky?" Finn said. He leaned in closer. "He's got so much gauze in his mouth and he's so high on painkillers that he's lisping again. And you know how uptight he gets when he accidentally lisps."

Carole rubbed her forehead. "Finn, you're not helping," she sighed. "Just go…go play your video games or something."

"Beware the crankmonster, Blaine," Finn said, wiggling his fingers in a vaguely spooky manner. "Beware…"

Carole nudged her son back into his bedroom and closed the door. "Finn's right, he looks awful," she whispered. "And he feels miserable. He won't even let his dad come in and see him because it makes Burt so upset. He's not going to be happy that you came."

"I want to see him," Blaine persisted.

Carole sighed. "Don't say I didn't warn you, honey," she said. She walked down the hall to Kurt's room and peeked in. "Kurt? Honey? Are you awake?"

"…yuham'way…"

Blaine blinked. "Was that English?" he said.

"Believe it or not, that's the clearest he's sounded in the past twenty-four hours," Carole whispered. She beckoned Blaine forward and he leaned in to listen. "Kurt is tired and upset and in a lot of pain, and so help me God if you make him cry, I will send you home and tell your mother what you've done. Do you hear me? Crying makes everything worse for him and last night it took an hour to calm him down after Finn made the mistake of watching Bambi with him."

Blaine nodded vigorously, his eyes wide. Carole opened the door a little wider and patted Blaine lightly on the back to scoot him inside.

"Hi, sweetheart," Blaine said softly. "How are you…"

His voice trailed off. Carole hadn't lied. Kurt looked awful. He was propped up with at least half a dozen pillows, dressed in disheveled and mismatched pajamas, and his hair could only be described as a bird's nest. His cheeks were swollen, his eyes were red-rimmed, and worst of all, lurid purple and yellow bruising spread across the bridge of his nose.

"Blaaaay," Kurt whined. He covered his face with his hands. "Oh mah gah, why?" He pulled a blanket over his head. "I'm hi'eouth…"

"Oh, Kurt!" Blaine finally burst out. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."

Kurt tugged the blanket away just enough to point clumsily at the door. "Go home!" he said, his voice thick and garbled. "Go home! 'm ugly!"

Blaine toed off his shoes and sat down on the edge of Kurt's bed, gathering his blanket-covered lump of a boyfriend in his arms. "My poor baby," he cooed, cuddling him close. "My poor, poor baby."

"…you don' thin' I'm groth?"

"No, no, of course not," Blaine reassured him, pressing a kiss to the back of his blanket-covered head. "You're still my handsome, wonderful, charming Kurt. You're just a little under the weather, that's all." He snuggled Kurt close, rubbing his cheek against the back of his neck. "And I'm going to take care of you, okay?"

Kurt was silent for a long moment. "I haven' ta'en a shower today," he warned.

"That's okay. You smell fine."

"I loo' li'e a chipmun'."

"Chipmunks are cute."

"I have two bla' eyeth."

"Purple is your color."

"I'm…_lithping."_

"I find it adorable."

"I'm really grumpy. An' demanding."

"Do you need me to get you anything?"

Kurt wrestled out from under the blankets. His hair stuck up even more from static. "I love you," he said seriously.

"I know. I love you too," Blaine said, leaning in to nuzzle his nose. "Now. I wasn't kidding. Do you want me to get you anything?"

Kurt leaned back into the pillows, tucking his knees up to his chest and curling up his bare toes. "I wan' frothen yogurt," he said. "From the shop down the roa'. An' I want to watch Thleepleth in Theattle. An' can I have an ithe pack for my eyeth?"

"Of course," Blaine said, leaning in to kiss Kurt's forehead lightly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Carole and Finn high-fiving in the hallway. He grinned to himself.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****OF COURSE BLAINE WOULD BE PERFECT AND WONDERFUL AND KURT ADORES HIM AND HE'S THE BEST PERSON TO SPOIL HIM AND TAKE CARE OF HIM AND LOVE HIM.

They seriously are the absolute cutest. And soon they will be together again because THERE IS NO WAY EVER THAT RYAN MURPHY WOULD KEEP THEM SEPARATED NO WAY.

And if he tries there will be an internet rebellion.

And also I will write all the fanfiction.

But yeah.

Also, I firmly believe that Kurt has a lisp when he was little and still learning to talk. I think it would be adorable.


	226. Friday Night Dinner

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt could practically see the nervous energy radiating off his son. He wished there was a way he could just verbalize his thoughts- <em>calm down, kiddo, everything's fine, we like Blaine all right. <em>But talking had never been one of his strong suits, and all he could do was offer a hopefully reassuring grin across the table or a shoulder squeeze as he passed by.

Kurt had been in a frenzy since he'd gotten home from school, throwing himself into cleaning and cooking and trying to make the dining room table look like freaking Martha Stewart lived there. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his school uniform, so by the time Burt peeked into the kitchen to remind him gently that Blaine would be there in half an hour, Kurt's navy blazer was streaked with flour, his gray pants were smeared with fingerprints from wiping off his hands without thinking, and his striped tie was distinctly askew. He'd also tried to not snicker at the fact that his son was wearing mismatched socks (one navy argyle, one solid red), but failed miserably, and Kurt had turned at least six shades of red before fleeing to his bedroom with a flustered yelp.

Blaine had arrived promptly at six o'clock, knocking lightly and politely, and though Carole was already halfway there, Kurt had zipped by hollering "I'll get it, I'll get it!" and pausing briefly to arrange his still slightly damp hair before opening the door.

Blaine looked just as nervous as Kurt, dressed impeccably with his hair only slightly gelled and a small bouquet of tastefully arranged spring flowers for Carole, who thanked him so profusely until he was smiling so wide it looked like his face was going to split in half. She winked at Burt as she walked past him to put the flowers in a vase and he winked back.

He pretended not to watch the boys as they chatted quietly by the door, but it was hard to avoid. They had "honeymoon phase flirting" written all over them, and judging by the way Blaine kept leaning in to whisper in Kurt's ear, and the way Kurt kept blushing pink, that phase wasn't going to end any time soon.

Funny, when Kurt had come out to him a year and a half ago, all big scared blue eyes and nervously quivering lips, this had been the last thing he'd thought about. The only thing that had come to mind was _well, there's no going back now _and _god, nobody had better hurt him over this. _He'd never thought about the actual relationship part, about what it would look like when Kurt brought his first boyfriend home.

He'd met Blaine before, of course. The kid had practically moved in over the weekends when Kurt was home from Dalton, helping Kurt catch up with the prep school courseload and singing the same acapella choir songs over and over and over again. He'd seen through it from the beginning, even if Kurt didn't- and God knew that Blaine kid sure didn't. Friends don't make the drive from Westerville to Lima and back four times a week just to help a new classmate study.

Carole had called it first, though, when Kurt came home starry-eyed and pink-cheeked and humming under his breath. She just knew Blaine had finally kissed him. He'd argued about it, of course, but then he overheard Kurt on the phone babbling happily to one of his girlfriends about it.

And to his surprise, he didn't feel the way he thought he would all those years ago, when Mollie first put the thought in his head. He didn't feel anxious, or uncomfortable- or worse, disgusted. No, all he felt was the sweetly bitter pain that his baby was growing up.

What he hadn't been prepared for was how damn much Kurt was like his mother when he was happy.

And Kurt was clearly happy. The house had been properly prepared, the food was perfect, his outfit was impeccable, and as Blaine continued to charm Carole and talk easily with Finn, he could see the tenseness fade from Kurt's slim shoulders. Blaine was the perfect gentleman- good manners, comfortable talking with anyone at the table, polite and conciliatory.

_Almost too perfect, _Burt thought as he scrutinized his son's boyfriend from across the table. The boys sat close- not too close, but just near enough- and he had a sneaking suspicion that they were holding each other's hands under the tablecloth. He narrowed his gaze, hoping they would pick up on his skeptical father vibe, but they didn't seem to get the memo.

"That was so awesome, Kurt," Finn sighed, dropping his napkin on the table and leaning back heavily in his chair. "I wish you weren't at Dalton so you could cook for us more often."

Carole flicked playfully at Finn's elbow. "Well, thank you, son, don't I feel loved," she teased.

"No, Mom, I mean…your cooking's really good and stuff, but Kurt does all the fancy stuff," Finn protested.

"And I have a lemon cake too," Kurt added. He started to get up from the table. "Here, I'll clear the dishes for dessert."

Blaine got up before him, squeezing Kurt's arm lightly. Kurt looked up at him and frowned. "No, it's all right, I'll do it," Blaine said, and he leaned down to peck Kurt lightly on the lips. Kurt smiled and leaned into the kiss.

Both boys instantly realized what had happened and drew back, their ears turning coordinating shades of pink. Carole hid a smile behind his hand and Finn's expression could only be described as a proud smirk. Kurt ducked his head, covering his mouth as his fair skin blushed lobster red all the way up to his hairline.

Blaine looked at Burt like a man preparing to be executed. Burt cleared his throat. "Finn can clear the table," he said mildly. "How about you two boys go pick out a movie for us?"

Blaine swallowed hard. Kurt leaped to his feet, grabbing Blaine's hand and lacing their fingers together tightly. "Sure!" he said, his voice a little too high-pitched, and he raced off, dragging his boyfriend behind him.

The second they had disappeared into the living room, both Carole and Finn dissolved into laughter. "I don't see what's so funny," Burt said, perplexed.

"Did you see the looks on their faces?" Finn howled. "I've never seen Kurt turn that red before! Not even last summer when he got sunburned!"

"Oh, they thought they were going to get murdered," Carole laughed, wiping away a tear. "Poor things."

"It was just a kiss," Burt shrugged. He looked pointedly at Finn. "It's not nearly as bad as when I caught you and that blonde girlfriend of yours-"

"I'll go clear the table," Finn said hastily, grabbing at his mother's dishes and zipping off to the kitchen before she could completely process what Burt had said. He still wasn't fast enough.

"Finn Christopher Hudson-Hummel! Did the Great Pregnancy Scare of 2009 teach you_ nothing?!_

* * *

><p><em><em>**Author's Notes:**

PRECIOUS BOYS.

PRECIOUS HUDMELS.

PRECIOUS BURT REALIZING HIS BABY IS GROWING UP.

LASKDJFLKDSJLK ALL THE FEELS.


	227. Dandelion Memories

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt leaned back lazily, resting his head against Blaine's stomach as he turned a page in his book. Blaine yawned heavily, sprawled out on the red and white checked picnic blanket. He snapped a dandelion stem and brushed the yellow flower against the tip of Kurt's nose.<p>

"Aha, that means you like butter," Blaine grinned.

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "No, it just means that you're going to make me sneeze," he said, playfully batting Blaine's hands away.

Blaine smiled, twirling the dandelion between his fingers. "Do you know what dandelions always make me think of?" he said.

"What, darling?'

"My first love."

"Why do I remind you of a weed?" Kurt asked, puzzled.

Blaine grinned sheepishly. "It's not you," he admitted.

Kurt set his book aside, frowning. "Who was it?" he asked.

Blaine laughed, brushing the yellow pollen off Kurt's nose with the pad of his thumb. "Don't give me that look," he chided gently. "I was five. Five and half, I think."

Kurt made a face at him and opened his book back up.

"Francey and I were playing lemonade stand. No one really bought anything, but it was fun. She ran inside, and I was by myself when the most adorable little boy walked by with his mother. They didn't have any money for lemonade, but he gave me a whole handful of dandelions and I gave him a cup. We didn't say even five words to each other, but I was just…I was in love."

He smiled foolishly at the childish memory. "He was so beautiful. Big blue eyes and rosy cheeks and the cutest little gap-toothed smile…" He lifted his sunglasses. "Kurt? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Kurt had dropped his book on the blanket and was staring at him, eyes as wide as saucers. "Was the mother wearing a pink dress?" he asked.

Blaine frowned. "I don't remember," he said. "I guess."

Kurt sat up. "Oh my god," he said. "Because I remember walking with my mother…we were coming home from the park, and…and I saw a little boy my own age selling lemonade, and she didn't have any change with her, so I…I picked a bunch of dandelions and-"

Blaine dropped his sunglasses and sat up. They stared at each other, mouths agape. "Does that mean-"

"Oh my god, yes," Cooper said, exasperated. "I figured it out ages ago."

"You mean-"

"I was there, remember?" Cooper said. "I was babysitting. And yeah, Kurt, you were the little kid."

"Oh my god," Blaine said, cupping Kurt's chin in his hand. "Oh my god, you're my first love…"

Francey threw a crumpled up napkin at their heads. "Yes, it's fucking adorable, now can you stop?" she asked.

"Yeah, you guys," Finn added. "When we all agreed to go on a picnic, we didn't know it meant having to watch you two make goo-goo eyes at each other all afternoon."

Lucy cleared her throat. "And Blaine…we all saw you sliding your hand up the back of Kurt's shirt," she said. "Subtle you are not."

"Yeah," Francey added. "You two want to go make out, go…go find a clearing in the woods or something."

"You're just a bunch of jealous cockblockers," Kurt said primly, sticking his nose in the air.

"No, I'm just a regular guy who wanted to enjoy his potato salad without watching his little brother get tongued right in front of me," Cooper said.

Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand and tugged him to his feet. "Fine, fine," he said. "We'll be behind that tree if you need us."

"If we can still hear moaning from over here, we reserve the right to throw food at you!" Francey called.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I CAN'T WRITE SEXY THINGS WITHOUT COCKBLOCKING THE END.


	228. Next to Normal

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Mollie rubbed her temples idly as she watched her students work on their still life paintings. It came easier for some of them- the pretty Asian girl had a pretty good rendering, and the blond boy was doing a fairly good job- but some of them were struggling. Some, like the boy with the mohawk who was throwing spitballs and the blonde who had drawn a cat instead, weren't even trying. But it didn't take much to teach the class- hand them paper and pencil, point them towards their still life, turn on some soft music. Teaching high school art wasn't nearly as exciting as elementary, but at least it was so much easier to deal with.<p>

She got up and walked around the room, scanning her students' projects. They carried on their own quiet conversations, not noticing her. She rested her hand briefly on Quinn's shoulder; the girl glanced up and smiled a little in return. Privately she was worried about the young teen- she'd given birth to her baby just a few weeks earlier and was already back at school, but without the child. School rumor said she'd given it up for adoption. She wished she could say something comforting, tell Quinn that she knew what it was like, but, well…she didn't like to talk about it.

The bell rang shrilly overhead, startling her. "All right, all right, I'll see you tomorrow," she said, raising her voice over the clatter of students pushing in their chairs and grabbing their backpacks. "We'll finish your paintings tomorrow, so be ready to work." She paused. "Finn? Could you come see me for a minute?"

The lanky brunet perked up his ears. "Uh…what do you need, Mrs. Hummel?" he asked. "I've gotta get to baseball…"

"I wanted to check with you about that," she said. She sat down at her desk, nodding towards the empty chair next to it. Finn sat down quickly, his eyes large and earnest. "You're not in trouble, at least not yet."

"Oh, good," he said, relieved. He scooted a little closer to her desk. "My mom would've killed me."

"I just wanted to let you know that if you need to make up some extra credit to bring your GPA up," she said. "I know some of your other classes aren't where they need to be, and you need to have a 3.0 or higher to stay on the team."

"Yeah, I do," Finn said. "That would be awesome, Mrs. H. Thanks."

She smiled. "I'm glad I can help," she said. "And you're only in sports, right? No other extracurriculars?"

"Yeah, no, I'm not," he said. He shrugged. "I'm not really good at much else."

"You never know if you never try," she offered. "Weren't you going to try out for glee club?"

"I thought about it, but Mr. Schuester wasn't able to get enough kids, so…we only had like one practice before we got shut down," Finn said. "It kinda sucks, I guess, but I don't know. I've got enough going on without being in a stupid choir thingy too." He scratched the back of his neck. "So what do I need to do to get the extra credit stuff?"

She slid a pile of worksheets across the desk towards him. "If you can do some of these projects for me, I'll see how much extra I can give you."

"Awesome, thanks," Finn said gratefully, leaning over to pick them up. He paused. "Hey! I didn't know you had a kid!"

Mollie froze.

"Aw, he's cute," Finn said, squinting at the framed photo on her desk. "How old is he?"

Mollie cleared her throat. "My son, he…" She cleared her throat again. "Kurt passed away when he was eight."

Finn started. "Oh!" he said. "Oh, oh my god, I'm…uh…"

"It's all right," she said. Her face felt frozen. "I'll see you in class tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay, uh…bye, Mrs. H," Finn stammered, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste to get out of the room.

She exhaled slowly, resting her cheek in her hand. Her gaze fell on the photo and she reached out slowly to trace her fingertip lightly against the curve of her little son's cheek. Kurt looked so happy in that picture, his blue eyes crinkling in the corners as he flashed his gap-toothed smile at the camera. It had been his seventh birthday, the last one before he got so sick.

She shouldered her bag as she got up and left her classroom, locking the door behind her. The hallways were still busy, but she took the back way and ducked out to her car, keeping her eyes down to avoid catching the eyes of any students or coworkers. She didn't feel like talking to anyone.

The drive home passed in a blur. Her mind was a thousand miles away.

It was the anniversary of Kurt's death that day- eight years since her precious little boy took his last breath, just a short month after his eighth birthday. It had happened so quickly. He'd been feeling sick around Christmas, complaining of stomachaches and spending a lot of time on the couch with his head resting on her knee. They thought it had been the stomach flu, maybe a bad virus.

But he was so sick. He spent the entire month of February in the hospital, begging every night to please, please let him go home, he'd be good, just let him go home. He got thinner and paler every time she saw him, till he wasn't even strong enough to lift his head when his parents walked into his hospital room.

Mollie swiped at her watering eyes as she pulled into the driveway beside her husband's truck. She didn't want him to see her crying like this.

She gathered her things and went inside. "I'm home," she called quietly as she left her shoes by the door.

"Hey, Moll."

She set her bag down and leaned against the back of Burt's armchair. "What're you watching?" she asked.

"Baseball."

She leaned over and he offered her a light kiss on the cheek. His fingers toyed idly with the neck of the beer bottle in his hand. "You want anything for dinner?" she asked.

"Not hungry," he said.

The photograph of Kurt that usually hung above on the wall above the TV, the one taken by Cinderella's fountain on his Make-a-Wish trip to Disney World, had been turned away to face the wall.

"Okay," she said softly.

She squeezed his shoulder and turned to go upstairs. Her fingers clung too hard to the banister, and she could feel her heart pounding as she reached for the door at the top of the steps.

They should have done something with his room long ago, but neither of them could bear to touch it. It looked just like it had the night he died- his nightlight still plugged in under the window, the light bulb long burned out; his pajamas still draped over his dresser, ready for bedtime; his stuffed animals propped up against the pillows on his bed, patiently waiting for a little boy who would never come home. She reached over and clicked on the lamp, then sank down on the bed.

They'd buried his blanket with him- Burt had insisted on it, fought that Kurt had never been able to sleep without it, that there was no way they could bury their baby without his precious blanket. Selfishly she'd wanted to keep it, to remember the way he would fall asleep all curled up on his tummy with his blanket pressed to his cheek and his thumb tucked in his mouth. But Burt was right, and she knew it, and in some strange way it made her feel better to know that Kurt still had it with him.

She laid down slowly, sinking into the soft bed and resting her cheek against his pillow. The soft familiar scent was long gone, but if she closed her eyes and waited long enough, she could remember what it was like- the scent of baby shampoo and clean soap, the way his silky hair felt against her fingertips, his sweet little lisp and his piping laugh, the kisses he would press to her cheek when she tucked him in at night.

Suddenly it was too much. She pushed herself away from the suffocating softness of the bed and stumbled down the stairs, leaving the door ajar. Burt still sat in front of the television, his head in his hands, and she crept out of the house alone.

Why did they do this to themselves? Why did they force themselves to stay together, to keep going, to try to make it work? Nothing had worked right since their baby died.

She still had nightmares about it- holding Kurt tightly on her lap, kissing him and singing to him and whispering promises in the soft little shell of his ear, Burt kneeling beside them, cupping Kurt's tiny hands in both of his, silent as he watched anxiously for any signs of change, and then the quiet moment when they realized that his beautiful eyes were closed, that he'd stopped breathing.

Mollie walked blindly down the sidewalk towards the park, her shoulders shaking. Nothing had been the same. Nothing would ever get better.

They talked about having more children, half-heartedly. She was almost relieved when they found out she physically couldn't. No, she wasn't almost relieved. She _was _relieved. She didn't want a new baby. She wanted her baby, her Kurt. She would have traded her own life to bring him back.

She stumbled a little at the entrance of the park, bumping into someone she couldn't even see clearly. A firm hand grasped her elbow and kept her from falling.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"It's okay. Are you all right?"

She glanced up. A teenage boy blinked at her in concern. He was a lovely boy, dark haired and hazel eyed, dressed in a crisp private school uniform. "Are you all right, ma'am?" he repeated.

He looked about the same age as Kurt would have been if he had lived. "I'm fine, thanks," she said, her breath catching in her throat, and she pushed away, not knowing where she was going, but it was all right. She didn't care anyway.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****UGH SO MANY FEELS.

Basically, someone asked to see a story where Kurt died instead of Mollie. And this happened. And then I cried.

The title comes from one of my favorite shows, Next to Normal. It's an absolutely beautiful, heartbreaking show about a woman with bipolar disorder and how it affects her family- and part of it is about the loss of her child sixteen years earlier. So...yes.

Someone also wrote an absolutely beautiful response drabble about Blaine sitting down to talk to Mollie- because of course that was Blaine there at the end. UGH ALL THE TEARS. Think of how sad Blaine's life would be without Kurt!

Think how different everyone's lives would be without Kurt! Burt would still be homophobic and closed-off, and he would have never married Carole (whether or not Mollie was still alive). Blaine would have never met Kurt, and would have stayed at Dalton. There never would have been a glee club, because they would have never gotten enough members to even start.

BASICALLY WHAT I'M GETTING AT IS THAT EVERYONE WOULD BE SAD WITHOUT KURT.

Ugh, why couldn't Mollie and Kurt both gotten to live?!

But on the upside, that's why I write things.

And tomorrow's drabble is actually about what it would be like if Mollie had lived, and I firmly believe they would have had more children, and so tomorrow's drabble is SUPER CUTE to make up for this one.


	229. Kurt's Baby Brother

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Kurt," Burt whispered, running a hand over his little boy's hair. "Kurt, wake up."<p>

Kurt roused a little, blinking drowsily at him. "Hey, sport," Burt grinned. "Guess what?"

"What?" Kurt mumbled, nuzzling sleepily at his father's hand.

"Mommy had the baby," Burt said, his smile stretching from ear to ear. "You're a big brother."

Kurt bolted upright, his hair sticking straight up in the back. "I am?" he said. "I'm a big brother? Ith it a boy or a girl?"

Burt swooped him up and settled him on his lap. "It's a little boy," he said. "You've got a little brother, bud."

Kurt's jaw dropped. "But…I wanted a thithter," he said. "I didn't want a brother. I want a thithter."

"Well, you've got a little brother, kiddo, and we can't take him back. He's ours now," Burt said. He set Kurt on his feet. "Go get dressed and I'll take you to the hospital so you can see Mommy and the new baby."

Kurt was dressed, fed, and buckled into his booster seat in the truck before Burt realized that something wasn't quite right. His son- his _oldest _son now- was uncharacteristically quiet. Ever since they told Kurt that his mother was going to have a baby, Kurt had been ecstatic, helping them plan the nursery and pick out names and running to help his mom however he could. But now Kurt just sat silently in his booster seat beside Burt, his hands folded in his lap and the tag sticking up in the back of his "I'm a big brother" tee shirt.

Burt reached over and ruffled Kurt's hair. "Are you excited, kiddo?" he asked. "You get to meet your baby brother."

"Yeah, I gueth," Kurt said softly, and he tucked his thumb in his mouth. Burt frowned. By now Kurt almost never lisped unless he was tired, and he usually only sucked his thumb when he was sick or anxious. But what could Kurt possibly be anxious about?

He parked the truck in the hospital parking lot and walked around to the passenger seat to help Kurt down. Kurt allowed himself to be picked up, but when Burt reached for his hand, he pulled away, keeping his right thumb firmly in his mouth and his left arm firmly crossed over his little chest.

Burt, frowned, slightly hurt by the rejection. "Don't you want to hold my hand, buddy?" he asked.

Kurt shook his head stubbornly.

"Well, stay close, at least," he said.

They entered the hospital and got in the elevator in silence. Kurt didn't even ask to push the buttons. Now Burt was starting to get worried.

_Maybe Mollie can figure out what's going on in that little head of his, _he thought. He beckoned for Kurt to follow him down the pastel-colored maternity wing; the little boy trailed behind him in silence.

They passed by the glass window that looked into the nursery and Burt paused, grinning as he spotted the little blue bundle. "There's your brother," he said. He reached to pick Kurt up. "See? He's right-"

"No, Daddy," Kurt said firmly, squirming out of his grip and dropping to the floor. Burt reached for his hand again, and when Kurt tried to pull away he held on tighter. Kurt whined.

"Nope, you're gonna hold my hand," Burt said. Kurt whined again, louder this time, and stomped his feet. "If you decide to have a temper tantrum, we're gonna go sit in the truck until you calm down."

Kurt stopped fighting, but he dragged his feet as Burt walked him down the hall, his lower lip sticking out in a pout. Burt stifled the urge to huff in exasperation.

They reached Mollie's room and Burt sighed in relief as he tapped the door open. "Hey, Mollie," he said. "Look who I brought."

Mollie was sitting up in bed, a little pale but beautiful. Her riotous strawberry-blonde hair was caught over one shoulder with a bit of ribbon, and she was dressed in her favorite pajamas. "Kurt!" she exclaimed, holding out her arms. "Come here, my sweetheart."

Kurt shook his head and yanked his hand out of Burt's grasp. He inched towards the door, his arms folded firmly across his chest.

"He's been like this all morning," Burt said. "I don't know what's gotten into him."

Mollie sat up. "Kurt?" she said gently. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head.

"Baby, I can't help if you don't tell me what's wrong," she said. She patted the bed beside her. "Do you want to come up here and tell me?"

"No," he said.

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because you got a new little boy and now you and Daddy won't want me anymore!" Kurt burst out, and he plunked down on the floor and began to cry.

Burt's jaw dropped. "What…what the heck made you think that?" he sputtered.

Kurt was crying in earnest now, big tears rolling down his rosy freckled cheeks. "'Cause the new baby will like sports an' stuff, and, and…and he won't ask for dolls for Christmas, or w-want to go to d-dance lessons, and h-he'll be better at riding bikes than me, and, and-" He gulped hard. "He'll be better at being a boy and you'll like him more than me!"

"Oh, honey," Mollie whispered. She moved like she was going to get out of bed but Burt beat her to it, seizing Kurt up in his arms and hugging him as tight as he could.

"We're not gonna replace you," Burt promised. "You're our little boy, mine and Mommy's. Just because there's a new baby doesn't mean we don't want you."

Kurt sobbed into his shoulder, his arms tight around Burt's neck. "But he's gonna be more perfect than me!" he said. "He-"

"We don't want him just because we think a new little boy would be better, Kurt, we want _you_," Mollie said. "Nobody could ever be like you. Not even the new baby. We'll love him too, but that doesn't mean we'll love you any less."

Kurt was still sobbing inconsolably, and Mollie looked like she was about to cry herself. Burt carried him over to Mollie and set him down on the bed. She pulled him close to her side and he curled up tightly against her, allowing himself to be rocked and soothed. Mollie shushed him gently, whispering quietly in his ear, and Burt sat beside them, patting Kurt's back.

Gradually Kurt began to quiet down, his heartbroken sobs tapering off into teary hiccups. Mollie kissed him gently and cuddled him against her chest. "Is this why you wanted a little sister instead?" she asked. "Because you thought if we had a little brother you would get replaced?"

Kurt nodded against her neck. Burt leaned over and kissed the back of his head. "Nobody could ever replace you, scooter," he said. "And I don't care if you want to go to dance class and he wants to go to football. Doesn't mean I love him more or love you less." He smoothed Kurt's rumpled hair. "You believe me?"

Kurt nodded, his blue eyes glassy from tears. Mollie brushed them away from his flushed cheeks with her thumb and kissed the tip of his nose. "You will always be my baby," she promised. "Mine and Daddy's. All ours, forever, whether you like or not." Kurt smiled a little at that and hid his face in her hair, and she squeezed him in a hug. "And your baby brother is going to love you. He'll want to be just like you."

"Really?" Kurt said meekly.

"Really," Burt said, tweaking Kurt's nose.

A sweet-faced nurse in mint green scrubs poked her head in. "Mrs. Hummel? Your little one is here to see you," she said.

Burt lifted Kurt to sit on his knee. "Do you wanna meet your little brother?" he asked. Kurt nodded, swiping at his damp cheeks with the backs of his hands, and snuggled between his parents.

"Be very careful," Mollie murmured as the nurse placed the blue-wrapped bundle in Kurt's arms, her hands curving under Kurt's to support the baby's weight. "He's very fragile. Hold him like you hold your baby doll, okay?"

Kurt held his baby brother gingerly in his arms. "He's heavy," he said.

"He's bigger than you were when you were born," Burt said, stroking Kurt's hair. "You were just a little bitty thing, a whole month early."

Kurt leaned in close to get a better look at the baby's face. "He looks like Daddy," he reported.

Mollie laughed. "He's got Daddy's nose," she said, stroking the baby's cheek lovingly with her fingertip. "And our eyes, Kurt."

Kurt looked up at her. "Has he got a name yet?" he asked.

"We're going to name him after Daddy," Mollie said. "Burt Thomas Hummel, Jr." Kurt wrinkled his nose and Mollie laughed. "But we're just going to call him Thomas."

"Hi, Thomas," Kurt said. "Hi. I'm your big brother." The baby yawned hugely and Kurt laughed. "He's funny."

"Do you like him?" Mollie asked.

Kurt nodded and impulsively leaned over to kiss the baby's cheek, then sat up. "Mommy?" he questioned.

"Yes, precious?"

"Do I have to help change diapers?"

"Nope, that's for me and Mommy," Burt said.

"Oh, good," Kurt said. "And Mommy?"

"What, baby?"

"The next time you have a baby, can it be a girl, please?" Kurt said. "I had a really good girl name picked out."

Mollie adjusted the baby's blanket and tucked in the tag of Kurt's shirt. "What really good name did you have?" she asked.

Kurt sat up proudly. "Ariel Maria Dorothy Tinkerbell," he declared. "Isn't it pretty?"

"Yeah, uh…Tinkerbell Hummel, that's, uh…" Burt cleared his throat. "We'll see, buddy."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****UGH SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING THE DAY I SAID I WAS GOING TO UPDATE! I HAD TO LEAVE YOU WITH TEARS AND ANGST AND SADNESS!

I got called in to sub. So I had to teach four middle school math classes. NEVER AGAIN. I will stick to fine arts and suchlike. Much better.

But yes! I firmly believe that if Kurt's mother had lived, there would be a whole houseful of Hummel children, and Blaine would have to be approved by all the other little Hummels, as well as Kurt's parents. But it's okay, they'll love him.

SO YES ALL THE SNUGGLY BABY KURT FLUFF TODAY!


	230. Awkward Little Preteens

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Blaine? Blaine, honey darling, come downstairs, please. The Hummels are here."<p>

"I'm not coming," Blaine shouted.

He pulled his quilt over his head. His bedroom door banged open. "Blaine, get your butt downstairs," Francey ordered.

"No!" he said. Francey took a flying leap and pounced on him. "Francey! Get off me! What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?" she asked. "Your best friend is here and you won't come downstairs to see him."

"I don't want him to see me," Blaine said into his pillow.

"Why? Is this because of your glasses?" He huffed in frustration and curled away from her. "You're not seriously that embarrassed, are you?"

He pulled his blanket off his head. "I look like a dork," he said morosely.

"No, you don't," Francey sighed.

"My hair is ginormous, I've got a zit the size of a small country on the side of my nose, and I have to wear _glasses!" _Blaine wailed. "Kurt's gonna think I'm a-" He suddenly clamped his lips shut, his cheeks turning beet red.

Francey sighed. "Okay, number one, Kurt adores you and he's totally not going to think you're a dork," she said. "And number two…just come downstairs, okay?"

"No," he whined. She scooped him up and lugged him to the door. "No! Francey, no!"

His big sister dragged him down the stairs despite his kicking and whining and deposited him on the floor in the foyer. "Hi, Mr. Hummel, hi, Mrs. Hummel," she said cheerfully. "Sorry about Blaine, he's in a bad mood because of his new glasses. He thinks he looks like a nerd."

"Thanks a lot, Francey," he mumbled.

"They look good, kiddo," Burt offered. Blaine offered a noncommittal shrug. "I'd tell you go hang out with Kurt, but…he's hiding in the bathroom."

Mollie got up from the couch with a heavy sigh. "I'll go see if I can get him to come out," she said.

Blaine watched her walk down the hall. "What's wrong with Kurt?" he asked. "Is he okay?"

Burt rubbed his temples. "He got his new braces yesterday," he admitted. "And he ain't happy about it, not by a long shot." He leaned in closer. "And he's lisping again."

Blaine glanced back; he could hear Kurt's mother tapping on the bathroom on the door. "Kurt? Sweetheart, don't you want to come out and say hi to Blaine?" she asked.

"No!"

"Well, when are you coming out, baby?"

"When are my brathes coming off?"

"The orthodontist said eighteen months to two years."

"Then I'll come out then!"

Blaine got up from the floor and crept towards the bathroom door. Kurt's pretty mother was leaning against the wall, looking worn out. "Honey, the braces aren't coming off any time soon so you'd better get used to it," she sighed. She turned to Blaine. "I'm sorry, sweetie. You know how he gets when he gets stressed out." She smiled and brushed a curl off his forehead. "I like your new glasses."

"Thanks," he said, his voice cracking a little. He cleared his throat. "Do you, uh…want me to see if I can get him to come out?"

"Be my guest," Mollie said, squeezing his shoulder.

Blaine tapped lightly on the door. "Hey, Kurt," he offered.

"Blaine? Oh my god, Blaine, uh…um…"

"Your parents told me about your braces," he said.

He could hear Kurt swallow hard. "Oh my god, they look terrible," Kurt whimpered.

"Well, um, I…" He steeled himself. "I got glasses this weekend."

The door cracked open a little, just enough that he could see one of Kurt's red-rimmed blue eyes. "Really?" Kurt said in a tiny voice.

Blaine slid his new clunky black frames up the bridge of his nose and offered a sheepish smile. Kurt opened the door all the way. "I look like the front of a Buick," he said morosely, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

"I look like a nerd," Blaine offered. He tugged lightly on the sleeve of Kurt's shirt. "C'mon, I showed you my glasses, show me your braces."

Kurt pulled his hand away and grimaced. His teeth were rimmed in shiny silver braces, decorated with hot pink rubber bands. "I look ridiculuth," he said, sticking his lower lip out in a pout.

Blaine took his hand. "You look fine," he promised. Kurt's cheeks pinked a little. "Do I…uh…do I look okay?"

"I like the glatheth," Kurt reassured him. "Very nerd chic."

"So when are you two babies gonna start dating?" Francey shouted from across the living room, and both boys instantly blushed matching shades of brilliant red.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****UGH WHY COULDN'T THEY HAVE BEEN ADORABLE CHILDHOOD SWEETHEARTS?!

They would have been so cute.

Especially in their awkward preteen phases.

AND EVERYONE WOULD TEASE THEM ABOUT BEING IN LOVE!

Mollie would have found it especially adorable.

Also, Kurt lisping is pretty much the cutest thing ever. And he totally would have been heartbroken over having to get braces.


	231. The Secret Life of Girls

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Finn leaned on the doorbell and dropped his head against the front door. "Somebody let me in!" he called. "Please? Kurt? Kurt, I know you're in there…"<p>

The door yanked open and Finn faceplanted on the foyer floor. "Oh, no," Kurt said flatly. "No. No, no, no. No."

"What?" Finn mumbled, brushing carpet fibers off his tongue.

"I have the house reserved for tonight," Kurt said. "Our parents are in DC, you're at football practice and then Puck's, and _I'm _having a sleepover. Remember?"

Finn rolled over onto his back and looked blearily up at his brother. Kurt was dressed in rainbow striped pajama pants, a tank top that said "sexy and I know it" in neon blue letters, a sweatband around his forehead that made his hair stick straight up in the front, and a formidable scowl. "But…Kurt, I had such a bad day," he said.

Kurt crossed his arms. "Try me," he said, his eyebrows lowering.

Finn took a deep breath. "I failed my math test this morning, I forgot to pack a lunch so I haven't eaten since breakfast, I totally bombed at practice so Coach Beiste won't let me start in the next game, Rachel's in New York with her dads, and I was gonna go to Puck's after practice but his sister has a gymnastics meet in Dayton tomorrow and he has to take her tonight," he rushed out in a single gulp of air. "Please, Kurt. Can't I hang out with you guys."

Kurt sighed. "I have to put it to a vote," he said. He held out his hand and helped him to his feet. "Come on, you sad little scrap of humanity."

Finn hung his head as Kurt dragged him by the hand into the living room. "Oh god!" Tina shrieked. "Boy cooties!"

"Hey," Blaine protested.

Brittany patted his arm. "It's okay, Blaine, you're gay so your cooties don't affect us," she reassured him.

"Ladies, my brother is very mopey and wants to come hang out with us," Kurt said, patting Finn's back. "I told him we could vote on it."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Really?" she said. "You want to hang out with us at a sleepover?"

Finn shrugged. "My day sucked and I don't want to sit around by myself…and actually, this looks kind of like fun," he said, glancing around. Blaine, Tina, Quinn, Brittany, Santana, Sugar, Mercedes, and Lucy were all sprawled around the living room in their pajamas; several bags of candy and bottles of brightly colored Jones soda were piled neatly on the coffee table. "Can I hang out?"

"We've just begun the initial dinner and a movie portion of the evening, since the pizza will be here soon," Kurt said. He crossed his arms. "We're watching The Princess Diaries."

"One and two," Sugar added, holding up her fingers.

"That's Catwoman, right?" Finn said. "Yeah, I could watch that."

"After dinner, we're going full-out at home spa," Kurt continued.

Tina grinned. "Facial masks."

"Hair braiding."

"Nail painting."

"I brought my entire OPI collection," Lucy added, holding up a giant lime green caboodle kit.

"You will be expected to participate," Kurt said.

Finn swallowed hard. "Yeah, I can do that," he said, a little less convincing.

"Then we'll play truth or dare," Mercedes said. "Maybe 'never have I ever'."

"There is no option of passing on a question," Santana said, smirking.

"Uh…okay," Finn said.

"And then, when we're already really tired, we'll watch A Walk to Remember and eat ice cream," Kurt said. His eyes narrowed. "Everyone cries during A Walk to Remember."

Finn sighed. "Okay, look…ordinarily none of this would be my thing, but I _really _don't want to hang out by myself all weekend," he said. "I'll do it. Whatever you want, I'll do it."

Kurt held out his hand and Finn shook it. "Deal," Kurt said cheerfully. "Now, first things first. You have to get your pajamas. Blaine, go with him and make sure he doesn't pick out anything gross, or try to come down in his boxers. Ooh, make him wear the pajamas Carole got for him for Christmas."

"But…they have penguins on them," Finn complained.

Brittany perked up. "I love penguins," she said. She clapped her hands. "Let me get my camera."

"Oh god…can we make a no cameras rule?" Finn said.

"Nope!" Blaine said, propelling Finn up the stairs.

They did, however, compromise on a "no-posting-to-Facebook" rule. But Finn returned in his penguin pajamas and proceeded to eat almost an entire pizza by himself, plus the pineapple pieces Sugar picked off of her slices (she pitched a fit over the Hawaiian, but Kurt threatened to pitch a fit in return if he didn't get it, and the group agreed that Kurt's temper tantrums were bigger). To his surprise, Finn seemed to enjoy the Princess Diaries movies, especially when he realized Captain Kirk and the guy from Indiana Jones was in the second one.

Even the spa part wasn't that bad. It helped that everyone looked goofy with their mint-green facial masks, and since Blaine was allowing Kurt to paint his nails with glitter polish (the Rainbow in the Sky-lie glitter, Kurt explained), Finn let Lucy paint his. The clipping-and-filing part sort of set his teeth on edge, but she painted his nails a really cool greeny-gold color, and when she told him it was the Just Spotted the Lizard color from the Spiderman collection, he actually got kind of excited.

Truth or dare wasn't that bad- he never knew that Quinn's favorite movie was Clueless, or that Santana had been to France before. He also knew way more about his brother's sex life than he ever wanted to know, but at least it was funny to watch Kurt and Blaine turn red and purple with embarrassment every time someone asked them a question.

They made a field trip to Kroger at one in the morning, all piling into Kurt's Navigator and Mercedes's SUV. Everyone picked out a different flavor of Ben and Jerry's and when they got back to the house they all settled down on the living room floor in a nest of blankets and pillows with their ice cream and the movie, passing around their pints to try everyone's flavors.

And sure enough, by the time they got to the end of A Walk to Remember, everyone was crying into their ice cream. Between the whole group, they emptied an entire box of tissues.

When the movies was over they settled down to sleep, whispering idly to each other until gradually everyone drifted off. Surprisingly, Finn was one of the first ones awake- mostly because Sugar had rolled onto his back in the middle of the night and was squishing him. Finn wriggled out from under her and sat up a little, scratching the back of his neck and pausing to admire his newly-painted fingernails.

He glanced around the crowded living room- Mercedes snoring lightly on the couch, Quinn curled up in the loveseat with her hands folded under her cheek, Brittany somehow sleeping with her feet on her pillow. Kurt was splayed out on his stomach, his cheek resting on Blaine's shoulder and his arm tossed over Lucy's stomach. It was quiet and peaceful, the morning sun barely peeking through the blinds, and if he knew Kurt as well as he thought he did, there was probably going to be some kind of awesome breakfast once everyone got up.

Finn grinned to himself. Maybe they would invite him back for the next sleepover.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****UGH SO CUTE.

Except I strongly dislike Tina and Mercedes. Oh, well.

Finn and Kurt and Lucy and Blaine are adorable, though. Especially Blaine. Of course he would let Kurt paint his nails with sparkly glitter nail polish.

OH GOD I bet that the next time they have a sleepover they invite Finn again, but then Cooper finds out and is like 'WHY WAS I NOT INVITED?!" so he invites himself over and naturally Francey comes too and hilarity ensues.

Also, I only included Walk to Remember because that was my first tear-jerker-chick-flick at a sleepover. I was in...ninth grade, I think? I cried like a baby. Looking back, it's a pretty silly movie, but fourteen-year-old me cried bitter tears over it, so it has a soft spot in my heart.

But Nicholas Sparks shouldn't be allowed to write. In fact, I don't think he's actually a person. I think he's a highly sophisticated computer program where they type names and settings into a basic formula and hey-presto, a new book appears.


	232. Mollie Takes On Karofsky

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Dave sat down in the uncomfortable chair across from the principal's desk, trying to act nonchalant. Kurt was directly across from him, pale and clearly nervous as he averted his gaze. The slim young woman beside him reached over and squeezed his hand lightly; Kurt smiled just a little.<p>

"Mr. Karofsky, David, this is Mr. and Mrs. Hummel," Principal Figgins said, gesturing across the room. "Mr. and Mrs. Hummel, Mr. Karofsky."

Dave swallowed hard as his father reached over to shake hands with Kurt's parents. Kurt's mother didn't look too scary- she looked way too young to have a sixteen-year-old kid, all big dewy blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair- but Kurt's dad looked tough. _Maybe Kurt didn't tell them everything, _he thought hopefully.

"So why exactly are we here?" his father questioned. "I'd like to know the full story before we start discussing the consequences of David's behavior."

"Your kid's been bullying the hell out of my son, that's what's going on," Mr. Hummel said, eyes narrowing as he leaned forward in his chair. Mrs. Hummel reached across Kurt and placed a hand on her husband's arm, shaking her head slightly. Mr. Hummel leaned back, still glaring.

Dave fidgeted with a frayed patch on his jeans as Principal Figgins went over the facts of the case, his eyes roaming around the room from his father's poker face to the anger in Mr. Hummel's eyes to the way Kurt was biting down hard on his lips. Only Mrs. Hummel seemed calm, her expression peaceful as she held Kurt's hand on her knee. He bit down hard enough on his lip to raise a drop of cherry-bright blood, and she quietly wrapped an arm around him, smoothing her hand up and down his back.

"These are serious accusations, David," his father said at last. "Is this true? Is this really what happened?"

Dave shrugged. "We're just messing around," he said. "You know. It's just the way things are. The jocks picking on the nerds."

"Well, the way things are isn't acceptable," Mr. Hummel snapped. "My kid shouldn't be afraid to go to school. He shouldn't have his stuff ruined, or get tossed in dumpsters. What kind of school are you running, Figgins?"

The principal folded his hands on his desk. "Unfortunately, I received no complaints about these previous situations," he said. "There's no record of them on file. Since you only filed a formal complaint about this particular situation, Mr. Hummel, this is all I can deal with." Mr. Hummel leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Now, in cases like this, Mr. Karofsky, we will have to suspend Dave for three days, as well as adding a note to his permanent record. When he returns to school, he'll have a week's detention."

Dave sat up. "Wait, will I still get to play in the game next week?" he asked.

Principal Figgins glanced at the calendar on his desk. "Yes, your punishment should be over by then, so you'll be free to play," he said.

"That's it?" Mr. Hummel said in disbelief. "A slap on the wrist? That's all you're gonna do?"

"Mr. Hummel, this is the common consequence for bullying," Principal Figgins said. "We have always-"

"No," Mr. Hummel said. "No. Not good enough."

Mrs. Hummel looked at Kurt and squeezed his hand. He hesitated, then nodded. Mrs. Hummel cleared her throat. "Principal Figgins, there's another part of the story that may change your opinion of the situation," she said. "Kurt has been reluctant to talk about it, but it's important."

A sudden stab of panic ran down Dave's spine. Kurt's face had gone white and his eyes were colorless, but he raised his chin stubbornly. "When Karof…Dave accosted me in the locker room, he…he kissed me," he said.

The room fell so silent they could have heard a pin drop. Dave felt the room spinning around him.

"Kurt was reluctant to talk about it because he has no desire to out Dave, but at the same time it is not fair nor legal for my child to be sexually harassed at school," Mrs. Hummel said, her voice sweet but sharp enough to cut glass. "If Dave had forced himself on a girl, according to the school handbook he would be expelled for sexual assault, yes?"

"Well, yes, but…a boy…forcing himself on a boy…" Principal Figgins stuttered.

"It works the same way," Mr. Karofsky said quietly. He turned to Dave. "Is this true, son? You assaulted Kurt?"

Dave's neck felt hot. "I didn't assault him!" he pleaded. "He just…I mean, yeah, I kissed him, but-"

"Did he want to be kissed?" his father pressed in a low voice.

"Well, no, but I-"

Principal Figgins turned to the Hummels. "I will handle Dave's consequences from here," he said. "I don't think he'll be attending McKinley much longer."

Dave felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. His ears roared; he didn't even hear what Mr. Hummel was saying. He just watched as Kurt got up quietly from his chair, the color beginning to come back into his face. Kurt's mother still held his hand, but she glanced back at Dave with a look that said _you ought to be ashamed of yourself, _and he shrank back in his chair as it began to sink in for the first time just how much damage he had caused.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I still feel that Kurt should have said something about the kiss. Stop being so noble, Kurt, because that wasn't noble. That was letting yourself stay in a dangerous situation.

Ugh. I still have feels about this.

But in any case, if Mollie was still alive, I feel like Kurt would have told her about the kiss. And she would have done something about it, because no one pushes the Hummels around. ESPECIALLY NOT MAMA BEAR HUMMEL.

Someone complained about this, saying that since Kurt's mother was alive in this, it made him a weakling. And I was just like...what? He confided in his mother about what was going on, and she stepped in when she needed to step in. And he's still just a kid. I don't see how it makes him a weakling...

Then again, a lot of people have been giving me a hard time over reviews lately, so I don't know what to make of anything...except that I have tremendous writer's block. Ouch.


	233. White Knight

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"I think we have a lot of great sweater trends to look forward to this season," Tina chirped cheerfully. Kurt opened his mouth to reply when all of a sudden a huge hand slammed into his back and rammed him into a locker. The metal door rattled as his head bounced off it and he tumbled backwards onto the floor.<p>

He blinked hazily to see Dave Karofsky leaning over him, leering, when suddenly someone shoved him out of the way. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?" a voice called.

Tina clasped his hand and pulled him up to a sitting position. "Are you all right?" she worried. He nodded dizzily, rubbing at his eyes. "Ooh, you're bleeding a little. Here, hold still."

She pulled a tissue out of her bag and pressed it to the back of his head. He slumped forward, watching Karofsky yell at his hero. The new boy listened to the shouts with a cool, unreadable facial expression, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Look, you can yell at me all you want, but where I come from, physical violence isn't tolerated," the boy said, his voice just as calm as his expression. "Either you can walk away now, or I'll see what authorities I can get involved."

Kurt rubbed the sides of his nose. "Are you okay?" Tina pressed.

"I'm fine, just…whoa, a little dizzy," Kurt mumbled into his hands.

The boy knelt beside him and tilted his head forward, smoothing his hair aside to get a better look at the cut. "It's already stopped bleeding," he said. He rocked back on his heels. "I'd take you to the nurse's office, but…I don't know where it is."

"I do," Tina said, struggling to help Kurt to his feet. The other boy came alongside him, bearing Kurt's weight on his shoulder. Kurt tilted his head to get a better look at him. He was a little shorter but he looked older; his dark hair was slicked back with gel and his green sweater fit across his shoulders and chest nicely. _Very, very nicely…_

"Thanks for helping," Tina said, sliding an arm around Kurt's waist. He blinked- the dizziness was going away and it was a lot easier to stand up straight, but the spinning was replaced by a pounding pain in the back of his head. Tina turned him down around and started guiding him down the hall towards the nurse's office.

"Um…excuse me?"

Kurt glanced back over his shoulder. The boy smiled at him, nervous and hesitant. "I'm…I'm new here," he said, half apologetic.

Kurt smiled at him and held out his hand. "My name's Kurt," he offered.

The boy took his hand and squeezed it, and a spark ran up Kurt's spine. "Blaine," he said, flashing a sweet grin in return, his grip still warm and firm and all-encompassing around his fingers.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****ADORABLE.


	234. Lost

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

(This is the 'verse where Mollie didn't die and Kurt has younger siblings.)

* * *

><p>Bullying wasn't anything new, but when he came home sore and achy from getting thrown into lockers and dumpsters, all he wanted was to make a cup of tea, lean his head on his mom's shoulder, and beg to be home schooled.<p>

"Mom, I'm home," he called, dumping his stuff by the door and kicking his shoes off.

His mother stuck her head out of the kitchen door, looking distinctly frazzled. "Sh," she whispered. "Lukey's got an ear infection and I just got him to go down for a nap."

"Oh, sorry," he whispered. He tiptoed into the kitchen and slid down in his usual seat at the table. "Is he okay?"

"Other than having to hold him down to put drops in his ears, he's all right," she sighed. She dropped a quick kiss on the top of his head and set a plate of apple slices down beside him. "How was school today?"

He took a deep breath. "It was…well…"

His little sister ran in screaming, a headless Barbie doll in her hand. "Mommy, Mommy, Thomas killed Rapunzel!" Maddy sobbed. "He killed her!"

"Oh, Maddy, honey, sh, Lucas is sleeping-" Mollie started to say as she opened her arms to comfort her daughter.

"She took my legos so I took Rapunzel!" Thomas shouted, swinging the doll's head around by her long blonde hair. Kurt caught him before he could chase Maddy down, but from upstairs he could hear his youngest brother begin to cry.

Mollie sighed heavily as she picked Maddy up. "Kurt, sweetheart, can you go put the baby back to sleep?" she asked. "I'll take care of these two."

"Sure," he said, swinging Thomas down to sit in a chair; the eight-year-old immediately stuck his lower lip out in a pout and glared at the crying Maddy.

He climbed the stairs, his back aching, and reached into the crib to pick up his baby brother. "Hey, Lukey," he said. He lifted the fretful little one in his arms and sat down in the rocking chair. "You had a rough day?" Lucas hiccupped, his blue eyes wet with tears, and leaned his cheek against Kurt's chest. Kurt wrapped him up in a hug.

"Yeah, me too, little guy," he said. His eyes smarted and he dropped his forehead against the baby's soft hair. "Me too."

It wasn't that his parents wouldn't have cared, or that he didn't want to tell them. There just…wasn't a good time. Lucas's ear infection got worse and his dad had to work extra hours to cover the emergency room visit, and his mother had to take a day off to take care of him. Maddy had ballet and Thomas had tutoring, and with his mother taking care of the sick baby and his dad at the garage, someone had to feed the other two kids and put them to bed and drive them to school. He didn't really mind- he loved his younger brother and sister, even if they did get on his nerves sometimes- but it was hard to come home sore and bruised and shaky and have to put on his brave face to play princesses with Madeleine and help Thomas with his addition.

And then Karofsky kissed him.

And of course, his parents weren't there. They were gone for the weekend. Lucas was finally better, and Kurt had talked them into going away for the weekend, just a short little trip to celebrate their anniversary. And he didn't have anyone to talk to, not with his parents out of cell range. He went through the motions of caring for the kids, even though his whole body felt like it was about to fly into a million pieces. He broke a glass while he tried to make dinner, and eventually just gave up and ordered pizza. The kids were all shooed into the living room to watch a movie to clean up, but Maddy came padding back to him in her little socked feet, her ponytail loose and untidy as she surveyed the mess.

"Brother, what's wrong?" she'd asked him in her sweet little voice. "You look sad. Are you sad?"

He'd laughed it off, shaky and unconvincing, and sent her back to the living room with the promise of letting her wear one of her beloved princess dresses all day the next day. That had been enough to distract her, but when he finally crawled into bed that night, all he wanted was to call his parents and beg them to come home.

He decided to wait until the next weekend, when they were both home and the two older kids would be off playing with friends. He could tell them everything, and they could fix it.

He waited too long.

"Where the hell is Kurt?" Burt fumed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mommy! Daddy made a swear!" Madeleine hollered.

"Yes, baby, I heard," Mollie said. She picked up her phone, pressed Kurt's speed dial, and tucked it under her chin. "I've called him twice in the past ten minutes, but I'll try again."

"Leave a voicemail this time," Burt said, scowling. "I know he had glee tonight, but the kid knows how important Friday nights are."

"Burt, your heart," Mollie warned, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "He's sixteen. Kids stay out past their curfew." She straightened. "Kurt? Hi, honey, it's Mom. It's past dinnertime and you need to be home. I don't care if you're still out with your friends, but you know better than this. If you're going to be late, you need to call and-"

Burt pulled the phone out of her hand. "Kurt Elijah, you'd better get your butt home," he warned. "We're already sitting down to dinner, and we're gonna eat without you. And you know the consequences of breaking curfew. No car this weekend. You understand me? Now you come on home, kiddo."

Mollie pulled the phone back and glared at him. "We love you, honey," she said. "Please come home, all right?" She hung up the phone and scowled at her husband. "Really, Burt."

"He knows better," Burt said. He reached over and scooped Lucas up from the floor and plopped him in his high chair. "Let's not wait for Kurt. We'll go ahead and eat."

It was a fairly normal Friday night in the Hummel house- eating roast chicken and mashed potatoes, playing Candyland in the living room, piling on the couch to watch a movie and eat ice cream. They put the kids to bed, Mollie singing Lukey to sleep and Burt reading a chapter from The Wizard of Oz to Thomas and Maddy after they brushed their teeth. But there was an awful hollow spot. Kurt wasn't there to help clear the table, or help Maddy move her playing piece across the game board, or scoop ice cream into cones for the little ones, or sing his usual lullaby to Lucas while Burt tucked in Thomas and Mollie kissed Maddy goodnight.

It was nearly ten, the neighborhood dark and the kitchen finally cleaned up, when Mollie cleared her throat, her arms hugged nervously across her chest. "Burt, I'm worried," she whispered.

"Me too," he said. "This isn't like him at all."

"I've been texting him all night and he won't answer," she confessed. "I want to go look for him. Can you-"

"Let's get someone to watch the kids and we'll both go," Burt said. "You call one of the neighbor kids, I'll get the keys."

Mollie scrolled through her contacts for Quinn Fabray- she'd gotten to know the pretty girl fairly well after the last school year, and she'd proven to be a responsible babysitter for the little ones. It rang three times before Quinn picked up.

"Quinn? Hi, sweetheart, this is Mollie Hummel, Kurt's mom," she said.

"Oh, hi, Mrs. Hummel."

"Listen, Kurt hasn't come home and his dad and I are getting worried," she said, tapping her fingers anxiously on the kitchen counter. "Can you come over and keep an eye on the babies while we go out and look for him? They're already in bed and asleep, we just don't want to leave them alone."

"Sure, Mrs. Hummel, I'll be right over," Quinn said.

Mollie could already hear the clinking of Quinn's car keys and her call to her mother of _I'm going out, I'll be back soon. _"Did you see Kurt leave school?" she asked. "Do you know where he might be?"

"I don't know," Quinn said. Mollie could hear the revving of her car engine. "I left a little late from glee, I had to talk to Coach Sylvester, but…when I left, his car was still in the parking lot."

"All right," Mollie said, her throat aching. "Thanks, honey. We'll see you in a bit."

Burt handed her a pair of shoes and her coat. "You found someone to watch the kids?" he asked.

Mollie nodded as she slipped into her shoes. "Quinn Fabray will be over in a little bit," she said. "Burt, I don't think Kurt even left school. I think something happened."

"Don't panic, don't panic, we'll see," Burt said, but his mouth was pressed in a grim line.

Quinn was at the house in less than ten minutes; Burt made sure she had their cell phone numbers before grabbing his coat and storming out to the truck. Mollie climbed into the passenger seat, her heart pounding. "Burt, what if something's wrong?" she asked. "What if something's happened?"

"Nothing's happened, Moll," he said, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

Mollie covered her mouth with her hand. "He's been so pale lately, Burt," she said. "And so quiet. But he just…oh, god, I think something's happened."

"Don't think that," he said fiercely, reaching over to grip her hand. "He's okay. He's just goofing around like teenagers do and lost track of time. We'll check around the school, and if we don't find him there we'll call up his friends and check around Lima until we do." He squeezed Mollie's hand tightly. "And then we'll ground him till he's thirty, because dammit, he can't just pull this kind of stunt."

They fell silent and drove the rest of the way to the school without talking. A light wet snow was falling on the road, and Burt was driving a lot faster than he usually did in weather like this. Mollie knotted her fingers together anxiously.

The truck pulled into the back parking lot and Mollie grabbed at Burt's sleeve. "There's his car," she said. "He's still at school somewhere. Oh my god, something must be wrong."

Burt slammed on the brakes and pulled on the parking brake. "There's no lights on in the school, so he's got to be on the grounds somewhere," he said. "You've got your phone? Good. You check this way, I'll go around to the front."

Mollie dropped her phone in her coat pocket and waded through the ankle-high slush. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest. "Kurt!" she called, her voice thin and reedy in the chilled night air. "Kurt, where are you?"

No one answered. She tramped through the snow, ignoring the cold melting slurry leaking into her shoes. "Kurt!" she screamed as she paused near the equipment shed. "Kurt, answer me!"

Something rattled faintly behind her and she nearly jumped out of her skin. The equipment shed was dark behind her, but with a start she realized the padlock was broken on the ground and the handles were barred with a baseball bat.

"Kurt?" she said.

The doors rattled again; she could hear a weak, raspy scream from inside. She ran to the doors, tearing the baseball bat away. Her teenage son suddenly tumbled out and fell into her arms, nearly knocking her to the ground.

"Kurt, baby, oh my god," she breathed. Kurt whined hollowly from the back of his throat, his dirty hands clinging to her shoulders. She sank down to the ground and gathered him onto her lap. "Burt! Burt, I found him!"

Kurt sobbed into her shoulder, the sound turning into desperate dry heaves, and Mollie held him close, wrapping her coat around him and rocking him like he was no older than Lukey. "It's okay, baby, I'm here," she soothed. "I'm here, Mama's here." She hugged him tightly. He was bruised and dirty and bleeding, his clothes torn and his shoes missing, but he was safe.

"What happened?" Burt demanded as he fell on his knees beside them. "Kurt? Oh, god, kiddo, what happened?"

"We need to take him to the hospital," Mollie snapped. Kurt whimpered again and she kissed his filthy cheek. "It's all right, honey. We're going to fix it, okay? We're going to fix it."

Burt scooped him up and carried him to the car, Mollie following close behind. Her baby was weak and hurt and terrified, but he was going to be all right. She held him on her lap, never caring that he was too old and too heavy to be cuddled.

"Who hurt you, honey?" she whispered into his hair. "Who hurt you, sweetheart?"

But he didn't answer her, and she could only hold him close and pray it wasn't too late.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes<strong>:

UGH WHY WAS THIS STORY SCHEDULED FOR TODAY, OF ALL DAYS?

BETWEEN THIS AND LAST NIGHT'S EPISODE I'M SO FULL OF FEELS THAT I'M GOING TO THROW UP.


	235. Slytherin and Hufflepuff

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Kurt slid further down in his seat, his arms folded stubbornly across his chest. All around him his classmates were eating their first breakfast at Hogwarts, chatting in excitement about how amazing everything was and how much fun they were going to have, but for the first time that he could remember, he had absolutely no desire to be at Hogwarts, even though he'd been dreaming about it for as long as he could remember.<p>

He did _not _want to be in Slytherin. He hated it. He hated the spooky underground common room, he hated his awful green striped tie (green had never been his color), he hated his bed in his room full of strange boys. He wanted to be in Gryffindor like his mother. He still had her Head Girl badge in his room back home, displayed proudly on his shelf next to her wand (tulip poplar, ten and a half inches, unicorn core, very strong) and her bottle of perfume, the one his father bought for her in a Muggle shop before they were married. All his life he had dreamed of becoming a Gryffindor like his mother, and it had taken everything in him not to pitch a fit when the Sorting Hat shouted "Slytherin" the night before.

In fact, he'd rather be at home with his father, working on his Muggle cars and going to his Muggle school where they might throw him into dumpsters on occasion, but at least he had the choir after school and he could go home to the safety of his own bedroom that he didn't have to share with a bunch of rowdy boys who insisted on tacking Quidditch posters all over the place.

"First year Slytherins, come line up," the prefect girl said, clapping her hands. "We have double Care of Magical Creatures. Come along, hurry up."

Kurt pushed his untouched plate away and trailed behind his class, sticking his hands deep in the pockets of his robe. His wand (dogwood, thirteen inches, unicorn core, slender and whippy) brushed up against his fingertips, but it didn't send a little thrill up his spine like it had the day it was finally placed in his hands. He almost wished he was a Squib like his father instead of a Slytherin.

He followed the rest of the excited and noisy first years down the hill towards Hagrid's house, worrying at his lip. There was no way he could get out of this. Maybe he could just fail all of his classes and they would send him home. But no, that wouldn't do. His father had been so proud about sending him off to Hogwarts. He'd handed him several Galleons to buy treats on the train, kissed him on the cheek, and told him how proud he was to have him as a son. No, he couldn't disappoint his father.

He squared his shoulders and filed in at the edge of the group. The Hufflepuff first years lined up on the other side of the enclosure, all eagerly peering into the fence to get a better look at the pygmy cwingens. Resembling an ordinary rabbit with extra-long ears, they weren't good for much but making decent pets, but as Hagrid explained, a happy pygmy cwingen in your garden was an excellent gnome deterrent.

"Now, I'm goin' to pair yeh up with another firs' year, and I want yeh to work together to tend to your pygmy cwingen," Hagrid said. "It's a simple thing, don't take much to keep 'em happy, but you don't want to see what happens when they get angry."

Kurt lingered on the outskirts, his hands still deep in his pockets, but suddenly Hagrid placed his very large hand on his back, nearly swallowing him up, and propelled him over towards a Hufflepuff boy hugging a pygmy cwingen to his chest.

"There ya are," he said cheerfully. "What's your name, little one?"

"Kurt," he stammered, staring up at Hagrid.

"Well, this is Blaine," he said. He patted Kurt on the head. "You two work together, all right?"

Kurt looked over at Blaine and swallowed hard. Blaine offered a hesitant smile. "You want to hold him?" he said, holding out the pygmy cwingen.

"No, you can," Kurt said, hugging himself and looking down at the ground.

Blaine leaned closer. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned.

Kurt shrugged. "I guess," he said.

The pygmy cwingen made an unhappy noise and Blaine sat down on the grass, settling the plump little rabbit on his knees. "Aw, you're making him sad," he said. "Here, come pet him."

Kurt reached over hesitantly and petted the top of the cwingen's head. The bunny snuffled at his hand and licked his fingers. "He's giving you bunny kisses!" Blaine exclaimed. "He's so cute. Here, you should hold him."

Suddenly Blaine scooted right next to him, his thigh pressed against Kurt's, and Kurt found himself with a lapful of pygmy cwingen. The rabbit turned around several times, the tips of his ears brushing Kurt's chin, and settled down in a plump fuzzy ball to sleep. "Aw, I want one," Blaine cooed, reaching into Kurt's lap to pet the little animal's head. "I have a puppy at home. His name's Snowy. Do you have any pets?"

Kurt shook his head. Blaine continued to pet the cwingen. "My sister has a fish she named Mr. Billingham, but she forgot to bring him on the train," he said. "She asked my brother to watch him, but Cooper's not really good with pets, so he'll probably be dead when we go home for Christmas."

"Is your brother a wizard?" Kurt asked curiously.

Blaine shook his head. "I'm Muggleborn," he said. "My brother doesn't have magic, but my sister's a fourth-year Ravenclaw. What about you?"

"My dad's a squib, but my mummy was a witch," Kurt said. The cwingen nuzzled his fingers and he petted his little head. "I haven't got any brothers or sisters."

"You know, you're awfully nice for a Slytherin," Blaine commented. "Francey told me that Slytherins were mean."

"We're not mean, we're ambitious," Kurt said. His mouth drew down into a pouting scowl. "And I don't want to be a Slytherin. I want to be a Gryffindor like my mother." He sighed heavily. "The Sorting Hat couldn't decide, and it ended up sticking me in horrid old Slytherin."

Blaine frowned. "So that's why it took so long to decide on you," he said. "I was wondering." He squeezed Kurt's arm. "But it doesn't matter. I'm sure there can be nice Slytherins."

"I know, but I don't like it," Kurt said, resting his chin in his hand. "I don't like the common room, and no one would let me pick what posters I could put up in the room, and…and my mummy was a Gryffindor. I've always wanted to be like her."

"I'm sure she won't be disappointed," Blaine offered.

"I don't know," Kurt said. "She died when I was little. Maybe she is disappointed, and I'll never know it."

Blaine's eyes widened and he squeezed Kurt's arm again. "I'm sorry about your mum," he said sincerely. "I'm sure she loves you either way."

Kurt shrugged his shoulders as they fell into an awkward silence. They could hear Hagrid talking to another set of students a little further down. "Now, now, ye've got him pretty content, but the best kind of pygmy cwingen is a _happy _one. Can't give yeh full marks for that one."

Blaine leaned in closer, the tip of his nose nearly brushing Kurt's. "What are we going to do?" he whispered.

"I don't know, but we've got to get full marks," Kurt whispered back. "It's our first assignment, and I don't want to fail right off."

Blaine rocked back on his heels, frowning. "We've got to make him happy," he said. "What should we do?"

Kurt suddenly brightened. "I know what makes me happy!" he said. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a comb. "Here. Try this!"

"You're brilliant!" Blaine said in admiration. He combed gently through the cwingen's fur.

Kurt petted the bunny's head. "You're a lovely little thing," he cooed. "Aren't you? Yes, you're very sweet."

Between Blaine combing its fur and Kurt's crooning, the cwingen rolled onto its back and began to purr like a kitten, pawing at Kurt's hand. "Well, now," Hagrid boomed, clearly pleased as he leaned over them. "That's the happiest one I've seen all day! How'd yeh know they like to be brushed?"

"It was Kurt's idea, sir," Blaine said. "He's very clever." Kurt offered a hesitant smile, his cheeks pinking slightly.

"That's exactly what we wanted to talk about."

Kurt and Blaine both whipped their heads round to see Professor McGonagall standing behind them, her hands clasped. The school headmistress beckoned to Kurt, who gently shifted the purring bunny to Blaine's knees and approached her shyly.

"This doesn't happen very often, Mr. Hummel, but the Sorting Hat informed me that he's reconsidered your placement," Professor McGonagall said, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder. "It's true you're very ambitious, but your ambition is tempered by your love for those around you, to the point that you're willing to sacrifice what you want for other people. Is that true?"

Kurt squirmed a little under her gaze. "I…um, I don't know," he said. "I guess?"

She smiled at him. "Well, Mr. Hummel, it seems the Sorting Hat thinks you ought to be moved to Gryffindor," she said. "He said something about having too much of your mother's spirit to be in Slytherin."

Kurt brightened. "Really?" he said. "You mean it?" He whipped around. "Blaine! They're putting me in Gryffindor."

To his surprise, Blaine looked crestfallen. "But now we won't be in double Care of Magical Creatures together," he said sadly. "And I was hoping we could be friends."

"We'll still have Potions together," Kurt offered.

Blaine brightened. "All right, then yay!" he said. "I'm awfully glad you're in Gryffindor after all!"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****PRECIOUS CHILDREN.

When I posted this, people got all upset about how this wasn't COMPLETELY HP-ACCURATE, but oh well. I like it! And people love to place Kurt in Slytherin, because he's ambitious, but I think he's Gryffindor, because he loves people too much. I mean...he gave up the Defying Gravity solo for his dad! I love him. Precious boy.

And Ripaille drew the CUTEST picture of them, so you should go to her tumblr and look at it.


	236. Kurt Scares the Crap Out of Finn

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Finn rolled over on the couch for what felt like the millionth time and groaned into his pillow. All he wanted to do was fall asleep, and apparently that was too much to ask. Then again, his mind was buzzing like someone had stuffed a beehive in his ear. His mom had gotten married two weeks ago and they'd moved out of their old house into the Hummels', and since he and Kurt apparently didn't make the greatest of roommates, he was stuck sleeping on the couch until they could buy a newer, bigger house, and his legs were way too long for this.<p>

And Kurt had started at his new fancy-shmancy private school last week because of all that bullying drama, so Burt had been super distracted with getting him settled and buying his new uniforms and yelling on the phone with Principal Figgins and whoever the headmaster was at Dayton or Delton or whatever that school was.

And sectionals were coming up, and they were scrambling for songs, and Rachel was still giving him grief about how often she caught him staring at Quinn, and Quinn had started giving him that doe-eyed look from under her lashes like she used to during freshman year before they started dating, and the football team was sucking major ass and he wasn't much help since he was so distract by everything and-

No wonder he couldn't sleep. His brain was thinking more in the past two weeks than it had in the entire past year.

Finn huffed and flopped around to his back, staring up at the shadowed ceiling. He was half tempted to go sleep in the master bedroom instead- his mom and stepdad were out of town on an overnight mini-honeymoon trip, and their bed was super comfortable. He was just about to gather up his pillows and blankets when he heard a noise that made him freeze in his tracks.

Something was thumping up the basement stairs. He pulled his blankets up over his chest before realizing what he was doing and dropping them hastily. It was nothing. This wasn't like his old house, with the scary mildewed cellar full of spiders and bare light bulbs. It was probably just Kurt getting up to get a drink or something.

Something heavy banged against the basement door- _thump…thump…thump- _and Finn jumped. Finally the door cracked open and Kurt stumbled out of the stairwell, nearly tripping over the threshold.

"Kurt, geeze, what's wrong with you?" Finn said. "You scared the crap out of me, man. I mean…not that I was scared, but-"

Kurt staggered past him without even acknowledging him. His shoulders were slumped and his bare feet dragged on the carpet. Finn frowned. "What's wrong with you, dude?" he asked.

Kurt limped into the kitchen. Finn winced as he heard the crash of Kurt running into the kitchen table. "Turn the lights on," he called. "You'll see better."

"I…I can't…hngf…"

Finn swung his legs over the side of the couch and got up. "You can't what?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck as he wandered into the kitchen. "I don't get it. What's with the zombie act, dude?" He flipped on the lights. "Are you-"

He paused. Kurt stood in the middle of the kitchen, a half-empty jug of milk in his hand. His brand-new stepbrother was dressed only in his boxer-briefs, his bare arms and legs prickled all over with goosebumps and his hair ruffled in a boyish bedhead. His eyes were open and bleary, but he didn't seem to notice Finn. A loaf of bread was spread over the counter next to a package of lunch meat and a block of cheese, and a jar of mayonnaise was abandoned on the floor.

"What the hell, Kurt?" Finn said blankly. "Why're you making a sandwich at two in the morning?"

Kurt blinked sluggishly. "I didn't wanna see a movie," he said, his voice thick and sleepy-sounding, and he turned back to assembling his sandwich with clumsy fingers.

"Kurt, what are you doing?" Finn said. "Are you sleep walking? Or are you- oh my god! Oh my god, put that down!"

Kurt reached out for a knife lying on the counter and picked it up by the blade. Finn lunged for him, unfolding his fingers before they could clench down too hard and pulling it out of his grip. Kurt shrieked like a child denied a toy.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Finn demanded. He uncurled Kurt's stiff fingers and held up his hand to take a closer look. A thin cut, shallow but already bleeding, sliced across his palm. He dragged Kurt over to the sink, holding him forcibly around his waist, and plunged his bleeding hand under cold water. "That was really stupid, Kurt."

Kurt leaned forward towards the spray of water. "I'm gonna…hm…grapes," he mumbled.

Finn struggled to keep Kurt from sliding limply to the ground, his arm tight around his waist and his hand pressed to his ribcage. He could feel Kurt's ribs through his skin and it set his teeth on edge. "When'd you get so skinny?" he asked his stepbrother, adjusting his light but unwieldy weight against him.

Kurt slumped farther forward, resting his free arm on the edge of the sink and leaning his cheek down against the back of his hand. His pale back curved and Finn did a doubletake. "Where'd all these bruises come from?" he asked. He stared numbly at the black and yellow splotches spreading across Kurt's fair skin. It was like a car crash- he didn't want to look, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. "Is this…is this what Karofsky was doing to you?"

The sight of the bruising on his back and the blood washing away from his hand made his stomach churn. The water shifted colder and Kurt jerked upright, nearly bashing his head into Finn's chin. "Oh god, what's going on?" he blurted out. "Am I…my hand's cold…oh god, I'm wet."

Finn hastily turned off the water and reached for a clean dishtowel. "You were sleepwalking or something," he said. He wrapped the dishtowel carefully around Kurt's hand. "You picked up a knife and cut yourself up. It's not that bad, but you were bleeding and stuff."

Kurt knuckled his eyes with his unscathed hand. "Oh, god, did I try to make lasagna again?" he said.

"No, just a sandwich," Finn said, nudged the jar of mayonnaise out of the way with his foot. "But still. Do you do this a lot?"

Kurt squirmed uncomfortably. "Not…_a lot _a lot," he said. "Just…when I'm stressed and stuff. I've done it since I was little."

"So…you're stressed out?" Finn asked.

Kurt raised and lowered one shoulder. "My dad got remarried, we're moving out of the only house I've ever lived in, I've transferred schools, Karofsky is…" His voice trailed off and he sighed deeply. "Yeah, I'm stressed."

"Is…is there anything I can do to…you know, help and stuff?" Finn ventured.

"Not really," Kurt said. He pulled away from Finn and wrapped the towel tighter around his palm. "Thanks for keeping me from cutting my hand off. I'm going to go to bed."

He pulled the edges of the towel together and Finn realized for the first time that Kurt's blue eyes were ringed in dark shadows. "Seriously, though…if I can help at all," Finn offered, shifting his weight.

Kurt smiled at him. "Thanks, Finn," he said. He turned around to head back to his basement bedroom. "Have a good night."

Finn watched him leave, his mouth tightening at the sight of the bruising spread across Kurt's back.

_I wish I could do something, _he thought unhappily. _But I guess I'm just useless._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

POOR BROTHER FEELS.

I kind of wish I had written more where Finn bandages him up and they have a nice lady chat and then Finn sleeps beside him to make sure that he doesn't sleepwalk again...but I'm always so nervous about going too ridiculous with cuddles.

BUT I LOVE CUDDLES, OKAY?!


	237. Emergency Room

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Kurt? Are you okay? You don't look so good."<p>

Kurt glanced up from his computer, squinting at his coworker in the too-bright overhead lights. "Hm?" he said. "Oh. No, no, I'm fine. Just…tired. Stayed up too late last night."

He went back to his page layout, rubbing idly at his left temple. If he was entirely truthful, he didn't feel that well, but this was such a competitive internship, and only one intern was going to get a full-time position at the end. He had to work hard, and if that meant coming in when he had a fever and a headache and some pretty tremendous nausea, then so be it. And if he could come in to work sick all week and still impress his boss, then he would be just find. He could spend the week sleeping it off.

An hour and a half later he jerked awake at the feeling of a hand touching his shoulder. He blinked sluggishly, his head throbbing and his mouth dry. "Did I fall asleep?" he mumbled, swiping at the drool on his cheek with his sleeve.

Lucy crouched in front of him and squeezed his knee. "I'm on your emergency contact list and your friend called me," she said. "He said you've been acting strangely all day and you fell asleep at your desk. Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm okay," he said, covering his eyes. "Just tired. You didn't need to come all the way out here."

Lucy brushed his sweaty hair away from his face and touched her hand to his forehead. He leaned into the cool touch without realizing it. "You're burning up," she said. "You shouldn't be at work. Come on, let's go."

Kurt struggled to stand up, his knees buckling. "I'm fine," he repeated. "I can stay. I only have a few more hours."

Lucy wrapped her arm around his waist. "You're about to pass out," she said flatly. "Come on. I'm taking you to the walk-in clinic."

"I'm okay," he whined as she dragged him out of his cubicle and down the hall. "Don't make me go home. You're not my mom."

"Why are you covering your eyes like that?" she asked. She walked him out of the office to the row of elevators. "What's wrong? Do they hurt?"

"Light's too bright," he said. "Just have a headache, that's all."

Lucy was quiet for a moment as she pulled him into the elevator and pressed the button for the lobby. "The light's too bright, you have a headache and a fever," she mused. "Does your neck feel stiff?"

He stretched gingerly and winced. "Ow. Yeah, a little," he said. "I think I slept funny on it."

She dragged him through the busy lobby and out to the curb, plunging her fingers in her mouth and whistling loudly for a cab. Kurt winced again, rubbing at his ears. She bundled him to the cab and buckled him in. "Murray Hill emergency room, please," she told the driver.

Kurt frowned. "Why the emergency room?" he asked.

"I think you're really sick," she said. She leaned his head against his shoulder and rubbed his arm. "But you're going to be okay." She kissed his forehead and he rested against her, closing his eyes.

The next few hours passed by in a blur. He was vaguely aware of arriving in the emergency room and slumping in a chair, willing himself to keep from throwing up, and the next thing he realized he was lying on an examination room in triage, listening to Lucy answering the nurse's questions as he was poked and prodded. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again he was lying on his side, his knees curled up to his chest, and something freezing cold and sharp was piercing his back, sending shockwaves of pain up and down his body. He whined in the back of his throat and tried to wriggle away.

"No, no, Kurt, lie still," Lucy urged, squeezing his hand tightly and smoothing her hand over his hair. "It's all right. Just hold my hand."

The pain spread deeper and he blacked out completely, his fingers going lax in Lucy's grip.

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on his back in a hospital bed, dressed only in his boxer briefs and a hospital gown. Something cold dripped in his veins and pressed against his forehead, but the rest of his body felt hot and numb.

"Kurt? Sweetheart, can you hear me?"

Kurt turned lethargically towards the voice. Blaine sat as close to him as possible, cupping his hand tightly in both of his. "What's wrong?" he mumbled.

"What's wrong? Honey, you're in the hospital," Blaine said. He rubbed Kurt's hand firmly, massaging the stiffness from his knuckles. "You have meningitis."

Kurt started to sit up. "I have what?" he said.

His lower back throbbed and his head swam. "You have meningitis," Blaine repeated patiently, easing Kurt back against the pillows. "You didn't even tell me you weren't feeling well."

"You have exams," Kurt said, closing his eyes to ward off a sudden wave of dizziness. "I didn't want to worry you."

"Well, I'm worried now," Blaine said. He stroked Kurt's hair gently. "I got out of my exam and had six semi-hysterical voicemails from Lucy. And you have to stay in the hospital for a few days while they keep you under observation and pump you full of antibiotics."

"Uh-huh, but at least your exams are all over," Kurt mumbled. He squeezed Blaine's hand limply. "Where's Lucy?"

"She went out to pick up dinner," Blaine said. "We're both going to stay with you till visiting hours are over. And I already called your dad to tell him what's going on. He and Carole are in Washington right now, so they're going to take the train up here on Sunday afternoon to come see you. You should be heading home from the hospital then, so they're going to stay for a couple of days to help me and Lucy take care of you."

Kurt leaned towards Blaine; Blaine leaned down beside him to cup his cheek in his hand. "Can I have a kiss?" he asked plaintively.

"No, honey, you might be contagious," Blaine said. He rubbed his thumb along the contours of Kurt's jaw line. "Go to sleep, okay? You need as much rest as you can get."

"Will you be here when I wake up?" Kurt asked, fighting the heaviness of his eyelids.

"I will, I promise," Blaine said. "I'll stay here all night. You won't be alone." He tucked Kurt in more securely and adjusted the cold compress on his forehead. "Go to sleep. I'll be right here the whole time."

He cupped Kurt's hand in both of his again, squeezing gently, and Kurt squeezed back before sinking into a dark heavy sleep. The last thing he was aware of was Blaine's softly callused fingers rubbing the back of his hand and the soft hum of his voice as he sang to him in hushed tones.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Ah, yes. People prompt sickfic all the time. I think that's what I'm known for at this point. Should I be concerned? I don't know. I don't know what this says about me.

But YAY LURTY. AND YAY FOR NON-BROKEN-UP KLAINE!

But yeah. In my headcanon, Kurt still works for Vogue part-time (Isabelle loves him too much to let him go) and attends NYADA; Blaine is at NYU, currently double-majoring in musical theatre and law (because he can't decide what to do and his dad wants him to be a lawyer). And Lucy's at NYU too, studying musical theatre and minoring in education (she eventually becomes the theatre arts teacher for a private school in Manhattan). But they're all friends and it's marvelous, and eventually, after visiting Kurt in NYC all the time, Finn falls in love with Lucy and they get married and have three adorable redheaded babies that Kurt and Blaine and Burt and Carole all spoil to death. (Names to be decided, but they have a boy, then a girl, then a boy.)

I have too much headcanon, don't I?


	238. Hospital Visits

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

This is from the verse where Mollie didn't die, Kurt has younger siblings, and he has UC instead of his mother.

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><p>"All right, kiddos, you guys got to be as good as possible, all right?" Burt said. He opened the door so Thomas could jump out and reached in to offer a hand down to Madeleine. "Kurt's still very sick, you've got to be gentle with him. No shouting, no running, no jumping on the bed. You got it?"<p>

"Yes, Daddy," Madeleine said, smoothing out the skirt of her navy blue dress. "And I've got the picture I drew for him. Do you think he'll like it? Do you, Daddy?"

"Yeah, princess, he'll love it," Burt said gently, smoothing his daughter's bright hair.

Thomas elbowed her in the side, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders. "At least you didn't bring your doll this time," he scoffed. "Kurt's too sick to play Barbies with you."

"Thomas, don't fight," Mollie warned. She lifted Lucas out of his carseat and shouldered his diaper bag. "Please be good, babies. Please."

"I'll be good," Madeleine promised sweetly. She slid her tiny hand in Burt's big one and shot Thomas a dirty look. "I'll be gooder than Thomas."

Burt caught Thomas by the shoulder before he could reach over to pinch Madeleine and steered him closer to his side. "You'll all be good, I know," he said. "Now, when we get into the hospital, you'll be quiet, right?"

The kids nodded, and while they were usually pretty obedient, an unusual hush fell over them as they walked into the hospital. Even Lucas cuddled up closer to Mollie's shoulder, blue eyes wide as he regarded his surroundings silently. Thomas and Madeleine clung to Burt's hands, huddling beside him as they got into the elevator. Burt didn't blame them. He and Mollie took turns visiting Kurt every afternoon, but they only brought the kids on Friday nights. At least the doctors seemed pretty hopeful that he could go home soon.

They rode the elevator to Kurt's floor; Burt got them signed in as Mollie had the kids scrub their hands with hand sanitizer. "This stuff smells," Thomas complained.

"But your hands need to be clean before you go in Brother's room, or you might make him sick," Mollie said. "Scrub your hands, baby."

Burt put the visitor pass stickers on the kids and Mollie, then took the hand sanitizer to scrub up his own hands. "All right, we ready?" he asked, picking up his youngest child from his wife's arms.

The kids nodded, and Mollie guided them down the hall to Kurt's room. She knocked lightly and looked in first, keeping the little ones behind her. "Kurt? Are you awake, sweetheart?" she asked softly.

Burt adjusted Lucas in the crook of his arm, waiting anxiously to hear his oldest son's answer. "Uh-huh, I'm awake. Did you bring the kids?"

"We sure did," Mollie said with a smile. She walked into the room and sat down on the edge of Kurt's bed, pulling him into a tight hug and kissing him on the cheek. "How are you feeling, baby?"

Kurt smiled. "All right, I suppose," he said. He sat up a little in bed and beckoned to the door. "Hey, littles. You don't have to hide."

Burt nudged Thomas and Madeleine forward. "Go say hi," he whispered, but Thomas hid behind him and even usually-exuberant Maddy hesitated. And to be honest, Burt didn't really blame them. They were used to their older brother being healthy and outgoing, running around the house at breakneck speeds as he got ready for Cheerios or helped Mollie in the kitchen or played with the kids in the living room or used up all the hot water in the shower while he shampooed his hair and sang at the top of his lungs. Now Kurt was thin and pale, his collarbone jutting out of his fragile skin because of the weight loss, but his cheeks swollen form the medication.

Kurt leaned forward. "Hey, Maddy, is that a new dress?" he asked.

Madeleine brightened. "Uh-huh," she said, skittering towards her brother. "I picked it out all by myself."

"Spin," Kurt ordered, waving his finger around. Madeleine giggled and twirled around, flaring out the skirt of her dress. He laughed and she climbed up on his bed; Mollie gave her a boost.

"Show Brother the picture you drew," Mollie encouraged, helping her out of her coat and draping it over the chair nearby.

"Here," Madeleine said, plopping down beside Kurt and handing him the picture. Kurt tucked an arm around her and eyed her drawing carefully.

"Very pretty," he praised. "I like the combination of lime green and pink on Cinderella's dress. Very cutting edge." She giggled and stuck her thumb in her mouth; he kissed the top of her head lightly.

Burt gave Thomas a push into the room, not so gentle this time. "Come on, bud, go see your brother," he urged. Thomas glared at him, sticking his lower lip out. It was startling how much Thomas looked like his older brother at that age, but Kurt had never been this sulky. Nor would he have put up with having his hair stick up in the back like this. Thomas stomped away and plunked down on the floor at the foot of Kurt's bed, his Thomas the Tank Engine backpack hunching around his shoulders like a turtle shell.

"Hi, Teeby," Kurt said, sounding amused. "Are we grumpy today?"

Thomas huffed loudly, sticking his tongue out at Kurt.

"Thomas Burt Hummel, Junior," Mollie scolded "That's rude."

Burt sighed. "Leave him be," he said. He walked over to his oldest child and kissed his forehead. "Hey, scooter. How're you doing?"

"Bored out of my mind," Kurt said. "Please tell me you brought me homework to do."

Mollie laughed. "You must be bored," she said, stroking his hair away from his face. "We brought you a couple of assignments, and the kids helped me pick out some new books for you."

Lucas squirmed in Burt's arms, yelping and babbling in apparent indignant baby-rage, and Kurt grinned, holding out his arms. "Hey, Lukey," he cooed. "Hey, baby. You want me to hold you, huh? Want me to hold you?'

Burt swooped Lucas around, making an airplane noise, and Lucas shrieked happily as he plunked down on Kurt's knees. "Oh, you've gotten big," Kurt said, hugging him tightly. "When did you get so big?"

"Lukey didn't get big, you just got skinny," Madeleine piped up.

Burt saw the frozen, scared look flash on his wife's face. Her hand, still resting on Kurt's thigh, tightened momentarily. But the other kids didn't seem to pick up on anything, not even Kurt, and Mollie relaxed. "How about we get something to eat, hm?" she said. She smoothed Lukey's unruly brush of hair and kissed Kurt's temple. "Time for Hummel family Friday night dinner."

Burt hated having Friday night dinner at the hospital. He had to go out and pick up dinner, wasting precious time with his son while he went through the drive through, and then have to listen to Thomas playing loudly with his Happy Meal toy, running the car over Kurt's blanket-covered legs and making vroom-vroom noises, and Lucas crying for another taste of Mollie's French fries, and Madeleine shrieking for everyone's attention. All he wanted was a little time with his son.

Then again, when he stayed busy keeping an eye on the other kids, it made it a little easier to pretend notice to notice how sick and skinny Kurt was, even after three weeks in the hospital. He was supposed to be getting better. He didn't look any better than the night he woke them up to tell them he was throwing up blood and they had to take him to the emergency room.

The kids settled down when Mollie put in the movie she brought with her. Lucas fell asleep in Kurt's lap almost immediately, and even Thomas calmed down, sitting down on the floor to idly roll his car back and forth on the tile floor. Madeleine snuggled up in the crook of Kurt's arm, and if it had been any other place, any other time, it would have been like a normal night at their house.

But the exhaustion Kurt had struggled to hide began to surface as he leaned his head on his mother's shoulder, his luminous blue eyes pale and half-lidded. Mollie stroked his hair thoughtfully, pausing to press a kiss to the top of his head every so often. The skin around his eyes was heavily bruised, blue veins pulsing through like spiderwebs. They whispered to each other every so often in low confidential tones, too quiet for Burt to hear. But that was all right. Kurt had always relied on his mother, always gone to her as his confidante.

By the time the credits rolled, Lucas was snoring lightly, his pacifier drooping out of his mouth, and Madeleine had drooled a little on Kurt's elbow. Kurt looked tired too, but more than just sleepy. He looked old and exhausted.

"We'll let you sleep, honey," Mollie said, kissing Kurt's cheek softly. Burt reached over and scooped up Lucas in the crook of his arm; Mollie picked up Madeleine and handed her off. She tucked Kurt in gently, adjusting his pillow and straightening the collar of his tee shirt. "You call us if you need us, all right? No matter how late it is."

"Okay," he said, sleepily exchanging a kiss with his mother. "Night, Mom. Night, Dad."

"Goodnight, scooter," Burt said. He leaned over to kiss the top of his son's head, then let the little ones get their goodnight kisses from their older brother.

Madeleine roused a little as Kurt hugged her, blinking sleepily at her surroundings. "No, no, no," she whined. She latched on to the shoulder of Kurt's shirt. "No, Brother, no."

"Come on, little girl, we gotta go," Burt said. "Kurt's gotta sleep, he needs to get better."

"No, g'night kiss," she protested. She squirmed forward and kissed the corner of Kurt's mouth. "Night-night, Brother."

"Night-night, Maddy," he smiled, tugging lightly on her hair.

Mollie bent over and hoisted Thomas to his feet. "Come on, baby, it's time to go home," she said. She slid his toy car in her pocket and started to walk him to the door.

"Wait!" Thomas said. He dropped on his knees beside his backpack and unzipped it hastily, then approached Kurt's bedside with his shoulders squared, his hands behind his back.

"What've you got, Teeby?" Kurt asked.

Thomas suddenly whipped his hands out from behind his back and thrust the toy he held into Kurt's arms. "Here!" he said. "You can borrow Pandy."

Kurt looked down, startled, at the well-loved plush panda in his hands. "But you can't sleep without Pandy," he said, bewildered.

Thomas pushed Kurt, but there was no force behind it. "Pandy will help you get better," he said. Kurt reached to pull his little brother into a hug, but Thomas yelped and pulled away. "No! No kisses!" He darted for the door, scooping up his backpack as he ran.

"We'd better go get the babies into bed," Mollie said. She squeezed Kurt's ankle. "Dad will come see you tomorrow, okay?'

Kurt nodded, hugging the worn plush toy to his chest. They left his hospital room quietly, Lucas still asleep and Madeleine already drifting off again. It made Burt's chest ache to close the door, knowing that his oldest son, his firstborn baby, had to be left behind. But there was nothing they could do.

They rounded the corner to the elevator to find Thomas sitting on the floor between the two gleaming silver doors, his face buried in his hands. "What's wrong, kiddo?" Burt asked. "Why'd you run out like that?"

Thomas looked up at them, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Is Brother going to get better?" he sobbed. "Is he going to die?"

Mollie picked him up gently, leaning his head against her shoulder and shushing him gently. Thomas wrapped his arms around her neck, still crying, and Burt watched them silently. Neither of them could answer.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****UGH FEELS BRB I'M CRYING.


	239. Blessings

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He was sitting on the porch swing beside his mother, like they used to do all the time when he was little, his hand clasped in hers and her fingers toying with his hair as she rocked them lazily back and forth.<p>

But he realized that he wasn't a child. His legs were long enough for his feet to touch the ground, and with a sudden jolt he looked down to find that his hand was bigger than his mother's.

_Oh, _he thought. _I think I'm dreaming._

He glanced over at his mother and realized she was talking, her voice soft and sweet and light. "…I think blue is a really good idea," she was saying. "It's classy without being overdone and isn't too fussy. Much better than the fuchsia that you were-"

"Mom?" he interrupted.

She smiled at him and his heart flipflopped. He might be in his twenties, but his mother was as young and lovely as he remembered. "What, sweetheart?" she asked, twining a lock of his hair around her fingertip.

He leaned against her, nestling his cheek against her shoulder. "Nothing," he said.

He felt his mother's lips touch his forehead. "I'm so happy you're getting married, baby," she said. "So, so happy."

"Really?" he said.

She nodded, her cheek brushing the top of his head. "I really love Blaine," she said. "He's so kind, and smart, and such a…well, he's such an honorable sort of person. He's a gentleman." She laughed. "And it helps that he worships the ground you walk on."

"Mom," he said, rolling his eyes.

She rocked the swing lightly and he shifted around to rest his head on her lap; she kept stroking his hair and let go of his hand to rub his back lightly. "Your dad is going to be so sad that his sweet little boy is a grown-up married man, but he's happy for you too," she said. "You know you'll always be our baby, right?"

"You've always said that," he said, smiling.

She scratched her fingers lightly against his scalp. "If you have to grow up and leave us, then I'm glad you're leaving us for Blaine," she said. "I couldn't have picked a better man for you myself. The two of you just…fit together perfectly."

He shifted onto his back and grinned up at her. "Like he's my missing puzzle piece?" he said.

"Oh, honey, you've got to stop with the Katy Perry," she said, tweaking his nose. "Tell Blaine there's more to life than Top 40."

"I will," he said.

She smiled at him, tracing the curve of his nose. "And tell him that I approve," she said. "Tell him…that I trust you with him."

"I will," he said again, softer, and she bent to kiss his forehead.

At the light touch Kurt opened his eyes and found himself staring into the darkness of his New York City loft. No more soft late afternoon light, no light motion of the swing, no murmuring sounds of a quiet suburb in the summer- just the buzz of city traffic below the window, the chilled November air, the steady deep breaths from Blaine lying beside him.

Kurt rubbed his eyes and rolled over from his stomach to his side. Blaine slept on his back beside him, one arm flung above his head and the other draped over his stomach. The blankets were rumpled around his waist and his undershirt was tucked up over his chest- it didn't matter that it was freezing and Kurt was burrowed in flannel pajamas and an extra quilt, Blaine was always too hot. His long lashes, thick and sooty, brushed against his cheeks and his lips were slightly parted as he breathed deeply. He sounded like he was getting a cold; maybe some orange juice and hot tea would help.

Kurt scooted closer, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders and resting his cold cheek against Blaine's warm collarbone. He draped a leg over his, tangling his socked foot in the hem of Blaine's pajama pants, and wrapped an arm around his waist.

Blaine roused a little at the touch, shifting under the warm weight of his arm. "Hey," he murmured, his voice thick from sleep. He ran a hand over Kurt's sleep-mussed hair, the touch warm and heavy. "Y'okay? Bad dream?"

"No," he sighed. "Good dream."

Blaine took his hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the tender skin of his inner wrist. The ring on Kurt's finger caught the moonlight filtering through the blinds. It wasn't a fancy engagement ring- no feminine ten-carat rock for him. It was a white gold eternity band, not too thin and not too thick, overlaid with a row of tiny, tiny diamonds. His friends had remarked about how deceptively simple it was, but he knew better. So did Blaine.

"Blaine?" he said.

Blaine hid a yawn, rubbing the bones of Kurt's hand with his thumbs. "What, babe?" he said.

Kurt watched the moonlight sparkle on his ring. "What if…I told you that my mother approves of you?" he said. "And that she, um…she trusts you. Would that be weird, or-"

Blaine cupped Kurt's hand over his mouth and pressed a lazy kiss to his palm. "I think that would be wonderful," he said sleepily. "I hope your mother would like me."

Kurt kissed Blaine's jaw line, his lips brushing against the faintest hint of stubble. "I think she does," he said. "I think she'd love you."

Blaine smiled, his eyes already have closed. "Good," he murmured. He patted Kurt's hand. "Can we go back to sleep now, KK?"

"Uh-huh," Kurt said. Blaine sighed deeply, already sinking back into sleep. Kurt rested his hand over Blaine's, admiring the fairness of his skin against Blaine's tan. The engagement ring on Blaine's finger clinked lightly against his. He'd picked it out with the help of Blaine's family, settling on a beautiful swirled design in yellow gold with a small marquis-cut diamond flanked by two smaller garnets. He had been so proud of it, until Blaine had presented him with his engagement band.

Kurt watched the moonlight play across his ring. He had recognized the band the instant Blaine opened the black velvet box- he had seen it a million times before, toyed with it when he held his mother's hand and tried it on when she took it off to wash the dishes. His mother's wedding band had been hidden away for years, until Blaine asked his father for it and taken it to be cleaned and polished and resized. And now it was perfect.

Blaine sighed in his sleep, his nose whistling a little as he leaned his cheek against Kurt's temple. Kurt smiled, drowsiness tugging at his eyes, and squeezed Blaine's hand lightly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****AUGH ADORABLE BOYS.

ALSO BLAINE CALLED HIM KK.

ALSO THEY'RE SO SNUGGLY AND PRECIOUS.

Also I might have shamelessly based Kurt's ring off my own wedding band.


	240. Avivah Puckerman Has a Crush

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Here."<p>

Kurt stopped mid-sentence and stared at the envelope in his lap. "What on earth is this?" he said.

Puck crossed his arms and shifted his weight uncomfortably. "It's from Avivah," he said. "She made it for you and made me promise I'd give it to you."

Blaine leaned over his shoulder. "Oh, look, she dotted her I's with little hearts," he said.

Kurt nudged him lightly. "That's very sweet of her, but…why?" he said.

Puck sighed heavily and muttered something under his breath.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"Sheshaddarushyou."

"Still didn't catch that."

"She's got a crush on you, okay?" Puck said. "She's like…obsessed with you now. It's really awkward, man."

"Oh my god," Kurt said. "Um…"

"Open the card! Open the card!" Blaine said.

Kurt pried it open with his thumbnail and Blaine leaned over his shoulder to see better. "Dear Curt," Blaine read aloud.

"Oh, she spelled my name wrong," Kurt frowned.

"Dear Curt, how are you? I am fine. I hope you did not die from your asthma," Blaine read. He paused and snickered. "She spelled it 'assma'."

Kurt pulled the card out of Blaine's hand. "I wanted to tell you that you are pretty like a princess except you're kind of muscular and super hairy but you've got pretty eyes and stuff and I know you have a boyfriend but that's okay because when I grow up I'll be so awesome that you'll fall in love with me anyway. Tell your boyfriend I'm sorry but I can't help it because I'm super awesome and he's really short." He looked up at Puck. "Her spelling is awful."

"She's a Puckerman, we don't pay attention in class unless we feel like it," Puck shrugged.

Blaine snatched the card away from Kurt. "She wants to steal you away from me?" he said. "Because…because I'm short?"

"Oh, honey, don't be jealous," Kurt said. "She's only nine. And a girl. You won't lose me to her." He smirked a little. "Are you jealous?"

"No," Blaine protested, but his ears turned bright red.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I think this is going to become a running gag, with Avivah being in love with Kurt...


	241. Panic

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

This drabble is from the verse where Kurt has younger siblings. He also has ulcerative colitis, the illness that killed his mother in canon.

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><p>"Kurt? Sweetheart, are you all right?"<p>

Kurt glanced up from his plate. "Hm?" he said. "I'm fine."

His mother frowned. "You've been pushing your food around without eating it," she said. "It's your favorite."

"Are you feeling okay, kiddo?" Burt asked.

Kurt set his fork down. "Just not that hungry," he said. He got up, dropping his napkin on his plate. "I've got some homework to do. I'll go stack the dishwasher and-"

"Thomas and I can take care of it," Mollie said, taking his plate from his hand and setting it down on the table. "Go rest, honey. You look pale."

"I'm fine," he said again. "Just a little tired. Long Cheerios practice today."

Mollie stroked his hair away from his face and cupped his cheek in her hand. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked quietly. "You're pushing yourself too hard. Maybe if you quit cheerleading-"

He pulled away from her. "I've got a condition, Mom, I'm not dying," he said, a little harsher than he meant. His mother looked hurt for a split second, but she rubbed her thumb against his jaw line.

"Mommy? Is Kurt dying?" Madeleine said, leaning forward on her elbows.

Burt caught her sippy cup before she knocked it over. "Kurt's not gonna die, princess," he said. "Sit down on your bottom and drink your milk."

Mollie kissed Kurt on the cheek. "Go upstairs and lie down, baby," she said. "I'll come check on you in a little bit, all right?"

"I'm just going to go do my homework," he said, and he headed upstairs to his room.

Truthfully, he wasn't feeling as well as he told them, but it wasn't that bad, all things considered. He'd felt worse before. He could finish his homework, go to bed, and he'd be fine. Kurt leaned over to pull his algebra binder out of his messenger bag, wincing a little at the sharp sudden pain in his left side, and stretched out on his bed to start on his homework.

He'd been working on and off for about an hour or so when someone knocked lightly on his door. "Come in," Kurt said, rolling over onto his back.

His dad walked in with baby Lucas on his hip. "Hey, Kurt," he said. "The little guy's headed off to bed. Want to give him a kiss goodnight?"

Kurt sat up and held out his arms. His eighteen-month-old brother nestled sleepily against his shoulder, cute and cuddly in his blue footie pajamas. "Night, Lukey," he said, kissing the top of the toddler's head.

"Night-night," Lucas echoed, pressing a sticky kiss to Kurt's cheek and tugging on his hair. "Night-night, KK."

Burt picked up Lucas. "Maddy wants to know if you want to read to her tonight," he said.

"Not tonight, I've got a lot of homework," Kurt said, glancing down at his half-blank page. "Tell her I'll read two chapters tomorrow night. I promise."

"I'll tell her," Burt said. He touched the back of his hand to Kurt's forehead. "You feel warm. Go to bed."

"I've got algebra to finish," he said, rolling his eyes. "Night, Dad."

Burt kissed the top of his head. "Night, bud," he said. "Don't push yourself, okay?"

Kurt turned a page in his math book and picked up his pencil. Burt let himself out of the room, closing the door behind him.

The house slowly quieted down for the night. He could hear the usual sounds of bedtime rituals in the Hummel home- Lucas's musical mobile above his crib, splashing in the tub from Thomas's nighttime bath, his mother's soft sweet voice as she read aloud to Maddy. Kurt sighed deeply, leaning back into the pillows as he worked over his algebra problems. There was a faint pulsing pain in the pit of his stomach, but it was okay. That was normal. He had to get up to use the bathroom a few times, but that was normal too. Just another facet of his stupid condition.

He didn't even notice his mother entering the room until she reached over and closed his math book. "Go to bed, sweetheart," she said.

Kurt blinked. "But I'm not done," he said.

"You're done for the night," Mollie said. She set his textbook and homework on his nightstand. "Put on your pajamas. Brush your teeth. Go to bed. No arguing."

"Mom, I'm sixteen, not six," Kurt said.

"Yes, and I'm your mother, which means I have the right to baby you for the rest of your natural life if I so desire," she countered. "Now go."

He got up reluctantly and obeyed, changing into his loosest, most comfortable pair of pajama pants and a tee shirt, and brushed his teeth. When he went back into his room, his mother had organized his homework into a neat pile and turned down the sheets on his bed. "Come on," she said, patting the pillow. "I'll tuck you in."

"Mother," Kurt complained, but he climbed into bed anyway and allowed her to pull his sheets and blankets around him. "You don't need to do this."

"Stop arguing," she chided, smoothing out his comforter. He gazed up at her, the first hints of sleep already beginning to tug at his eyelids. She looked so young, her face scrubbed clean of makeup and her strawberry-blonde hair braided loosely over her shoulder, and the familiar comforting scent of her perfume and the clean soapy lotion she used at nighttime clung to her skin. He closed his eyes, the tension in his shoulders relaxing a little. "There. Better?"

He sighed. "Fine, you win," he said.

Mollie smiled and leaned over to kiss him goodnight. "You're sure you're feeling all right?" she asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he said.

That could have meant anything, and he knew she knew that, but she tucked him in with a final caressing pat. "Goodnight, KK," she said. "Sweet dreams."

He rolled over onto his stomach as she got up and turned out the lights. "Night, Mom," he said.

He dozed off fairly quickly, but he woke up an hour later to go to the bathroom again. When he got back into bed, his blankets and pillows no longer felt soothing and comforting. His body prickled all over, running hot and cold all at once, and the pain in his stomach felt like someone had grabbed him around the waist and squeezed too hard.

He buried his face in his pillow and squeezed his eyes tightly, trying to fall back asleep. But all he could do was doze aimlessly on and off, waking up with his mouth dry and his stomach hurting. The pain seemed to flare every time he moved, and soon it felt like the room was spinning, no matter how still he was or how tightly he closed his eyes. His whole body throbbed with nausea.

The telltale watering in the back of his mouth began and he forced himself to breathe slowly and deeply in his nose. He didn't want to throw up. He hated it. And now that he was sick, it could mean that-

Bile rose in his throat and he stumbled out of bed, his hand over his mouth. He staggered into the bathroom, the walls waving dizzily around him in nauseating circles, and crumpled on his knees in front of the toilet.

But he knew something was wrong. His throat felt like it was on fire; something sharp and metallic filled his mouth. He touched his lips gingerly and when his fingertips came away red, he lurched to his feet, his heart pounding.

His knees could barely support his weight as he wavered down the dark hallway, his heartbeat roaring in his ears. The metallic taste in his mouth overwhelmed him, and a shiver ran down the spine.

He lost his balance for a split second, fumbling at the wall to keep himself from falling to the floor, and his hand skidded down the clean white wainscoting. Even in the dim shadows from the nightlight left out for the little kids he could see the streaks of blood smearing against the paint, and his stomach turned.

He made it down the hall to his parents' room, his fingers gripping the doorknob, and he nudged the door open with his shoulder. His parents were both asleep, his dad's arm draped around his mother's waist, but Burt turned towards him as the door opened. "Hey," he said, sitting up and dragging his hand sleepily over his face. "Which kiddo are you? You have a bad dream?"

"Dad?" Kurt whispered.

Burt was instantly alert. "Kurt? What's wrong? Are you sick?" he demanded. Mollie roused beside him.

"I threw up," Kurt said faintly.

Mollie sat up and turned on the bedside lamp, her strawberry blonde hair tousled from sleep. "Oh, honey, it's okay," she said. "Come here, I'll-"

"I threw up blood," Kurt whimpered, and he choked, something hot and wet spilling against his lips.

In a split second his dad was beside him, his arms tight around his shoulders and waist. "Kiddo, it's okay," Burt said, helping him over to the bed. "You're gonna be okay."

Blood dripped over Kurt's chin. "Dad, I'm scared," he said. "I'm scared, what's happening?"

Mollie moved several pillows behind his back as he sank down on the bed. "Burt, get me a wet washcloth," she said. "And go call his doctor."

Kurt coughed again, tasting metal and bile. "Mom?" he said. "Mom, what's going to happen?"

"Sh, honey," Mollie soothed. Burt handed her a damp washcloth and reached for the phone on the nightstand. "Sh, it's okay. Dad and I are right here. We'll take care of it." Kurt's stomach constricted and he threw up suddenly, the back of his throat burning. Blood soaked into his tee shirt, the fabric sticking to his stomach and chest.

His mother quickly pulled his shirt off, casting it aside as she dabbed at his mouth and neck with the washcloth. "Close your eyes, baby," she urged. "It's going to be okay. I'm right here, and you're going to be fine, all right?"

He obeyed, the touch of the cool cloth soothing against his skin. He could hear his father talking on the phone with his doctor, his voice low and urgent. He could only catch every other word of the conversation and he strained to hear better.

Mollie cleaned him up carefully and smoothed her fingers through his hair. She started humming softly, the same Beatles song she lulled him to sleep with when he was a baby. Kurt opened his eyes and reached out to grip her knee. She smiled at him, her lips tight, and squeezed his fingers.

Burt dropped the phone back in the dock. "The doctor wants us to bring him in," he said shortly. "He thinks it's an esophageal tear. But in any case, he's headed into a flare-up and they want him for observation."

Mollie squeezed Kurt's hand harder. "Who do you want to go with you, honey?" she asked. "Me or Daddy?"

"Dad can take me," Kurt said, even though he was holding her hand hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "The little kids will need you."

Mollie leaned over and kissed his forehead, cupping both of his hands in hers. "You're going to be all right, sweetheart," she promised him. "Be brave. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"

Kurt nodded just once. Burt scooped him up out of the bed, and he let go of his mother's hand. "Come on, bud," Burt said. "We won't be there long, I promise."

Kurt closed his eyes. He knew he was just telling him that to make him feel better. He was sick, and this was bad. Really, really bad. He was too old to believe his parents' reassuring lies, no matter how badly he wanted to believe them.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Hi, everybody! I'm back!

I took a brief hiatus during my Christmas break, and I'm returning (hopefully) invigorated for more writing! And of course the next drabble on the list was extreme hurt/comfort stuff. PEOPLE PROMPT ME ALL THE SICKFIC.

Also, because I can and because I want to: ALL THE FEELS. OVARIES. EVEN MORE FEELS. I WANT A BABY KURT AND MY OVARIES ARE EXPLODING.

Ah, it's good to be back. :)

How was y'all's holidays and everything? Good times had by all? Any New Year's resolutions? Anyone else eat their body weight in Oreo cheesecake, or was that just me?


	242. Affection

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Burt Hummel did not consider himself to be an affectionate man.<p>

His family wasn't really the hugging type. Affirmation was granted in shoulder pats or an "atta boy." And his wife knew he loved her without a lot of cuddling and stuff. An arm around her shoulder, holding her hand and squeezing tight, a kiss on the cheek- she knew he loved her.

And then their little boy came along, and it changed everything.

Mollie couldn't seem to put him down. He went everywhere she went, clinging to her shoulder as she bounced him on her hip or snoozing in the sling against her chest. When he got a little older he would toddle behind Mollie, wobbly on his tiny feet but stubborn, holding on tightly to the hem of her dress and babbling a mile a minute. Bedtime was a complicated ritual that involved Kurt sitting on Mollie's lap during a story, snuggling while she sang a lullaby, cuddling while she rubbed his little back and waited for him to drift off to sleep.

Burt was happy to carry his little son around, or to give him a hug goodnight before Mollie carried him up to bed, but Mollie was the chief giver of love and kisses in the Hummel house, and he was okay with that.

But one night he was sitting in his armchair in front of the television, watching the game and sipping a Coke, and he saw a pair of round blue eyes peeping around the door. "Hey, Kurt," he said, amused. "Your mama know where you are?"

His two-year-old son toddled into the room, dressed in his little polka dot feety pajamas, his pacifier tucked in his mouth and the corner of his blanket clutched in his hand. Burt grinned at him and turned back to the game, until he felt two little hands on his knee. He glanced down to see the toddler frowning at him.

Kurt pulled the pacifier out of his mouth. "Up, Daddy," he insisted before popping it back in his mouth and holding out his arms.

Burt hoisted him onto his lap. "You wanna watch some football with Daddy?" he asked, patting his hip.

But instead of settling down to watch, Kurt wriggled around on his lap until he was facing Burt. He wrapped one little arm around his neck and nestled himself in the crook of Burt's arm, resting his cheek in the curve of Burt's neck and shoulder.

"What's wrong, scooter?" Burt asked. "You tired?"

Kurt snuggled closer, the pacifier bobbing in his little mouth as he sucked on it in contentment. His hair stuck up a little in the back, still damp from his bedtime bath, and he smelled like baby shampoo. Burt rubbed his back and Kurt cuddled up to him, sighing in sleepy contentment.

"You just want to snuggle, huh?" he mused. He kissed Kurt's round cheek. "All right, buddy. You can snuggle."

And after that…well, it wasn't necessarily that something clicked. It was just that sometimes Kurt would climb into his lap or hold out his arms, and Burt would pick him up and let him cuddle. As he got older it happened less and less, and when he wanted to be loved on he would usually gravitate towards his mother, but sometimes when Kurt was upset- when a toy broke, or he fell and skinned his knee, or he had a tummy ache- he would go to Burt for comfort and lean his cheek against his father's shoulder.

It didn't really mean anything, though, until the day that Mollie died. They were supposed to go to bed, but they were going to bed as a broken family of two instead of three, if they could still be called a family. No one made dinner for Burt to clean up after, no one read Kurt a story or sang him a lullaby after he crawled into bed. But Burt went into Kurt's bedroom and scooped him out of bed without saying a word, and carried him down the hall to his big empty bed. He wasn't sure if Kurt slept all that night, but he did know that his son stayed as close to him as possible, his cheek resting against the plane of his shoulder and his small hand twined in the neckline of Burt's shirt.

And as the years stretched by and he fell into the pattern of raising a child alone, he began to learn all of Kurt's little quirks, all his secret tendencies. After his mother's death, Kurt didn't seem to be as physically affectionate as he used to be- the child psychologist that Burt dragged him to in the first months after Mollie's death said it was because he was afraid of getting attached to someone and then losing them like he'd lost his mother. But he always knew when Kurt needed a little extra comfort, because when things were just too hard and he was too overwhelmed, his son would close his eyes and press his cheek to his shoulder.

Like the night that Kurt came out to him and Burt realized with a heavy sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that his son had expected him to be angry, to reject him, to be disappointed. He could feel Kurt shaking against him- small for his age, still little enough to huddle in the safety of his father's arms, and while Burt didn't decide on purpose, he knew that he had to be that for his child. He had to be the place where he felt the safest.

Or like the day it finally sank in that his son was so damn scared of losing him that he was willing to change everything about himself to become the child he thought his father wanted. He hadn't even realized how badly he had hurt his child, and it didn't matter if he had done it on purpose or not. All that matter was that Kurt's heart was broken, and even though a hug and an "I love you" couldn't magically fix things, it could at least help, and he would offer whatever comfort he could to make things better.

Or like the morning that he drove his eighteen-year-old son to the airport and dropped him off to fly to New York City on his own, and what had seemed like a sensible plan for a young man ready to strike out on his own suddenly felt like abandonment. Kurt didn't seem like a grown-up, it was like the first day of kindergarten all over again, watching his child hesitate and bite at his lips and stare at surroundings in doe-eyed alarm, and all Burt wanted to do was take him home where he belonged. He pulled his son in for a tight hug, and was abruptly brought back to reality. Kurt wasn't so little anymore- he was tall and broad and muscular now.

But then Kurt leaned against him to press his cheek against his shoulder, and a thousand memories of his son's babyhood flooded back to him, memories of bedtime hugs and kisses for little kid injuries and infrequent requests for comfort.

He patted Kurt firmly on the back in a firm man's embrace and Kurt pulled away, smiling but still a little watery-eyed. He almost wished his son would linger a little longer, talk just a little bit more, but Kurt had a flight to catch and he was already reaching for his bags.

Burt watched him get out of the car, holding his composure for the last "goodbye" and "I love you." And he watched his son walk away, tall and handsome and slender and far too old than his child ought to be, and as Kurt disappeared into the crowd of strangers, he hid his face in his hand. His son, his baby, the kid he was proudest of in the whole world, the spitting image of his mother, was leaving him, and all he wanted was to turn back time and have one last chance to hold his little boy in his arms and give him all the hugs and kisses and affection his love-starved heart desired.

But Kurt was already gone, on the brink of his new life, and Burt Hummel had to face the fact that he had hugged his son for the last time in who knows how long.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELS.


	243. God Bless Yoga Pants

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Kurt, I was just-"<p>

Blaine rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. He found Kurt, all right, but he wasn't quite prepared for the sight in front of him. Honestly, he should have thought of it when David told him to go get Kurt and Lucy from the gym, since cheer practice was over and they needed Kurt for Warblers rehearsal, but somehow it just hadn't entered his mind.

Kurt was bent forwards, his legs in a slight straddle and his palms flat against the floor. His slim-fitting gray yoga pants clung to every curve and line of his butt and legs, and Blaine swallowed hard.

"See? Stop telling me you're not flexible," Lucy said. The petite redhead tapped her toe impatiently, her long ponytail swishing against her back. "Now, here, try it again."

Kurt straightened slowly, arching his back. "I don't think I can do it," he said. "I've tried, but-"

"No! No excuses!" Lucy said, smacking him lightly on the butt. "Here. I'll spot you."

Kurt rolled his eyes at her and bent his right leg back so he could grab his ankle. Lucy stood beside him, one hand pressed to his lower stomach and the other resting on his thigh. "If I fall, I'll crush you," he warned.

"I'm sturdy. Keep going."

Kurt slowly raised his bent leg, wobbling a little. "There you go, you're fine," Lucy said. She kept raising his thigh slowly until the sole of his shoe was nearly touching the back of his head. "See? That's an almost perfect scorpion!"

Blaine stared, mouth agape. Kurt's slim back curved in a perfect crescent shape, his slightly-too-small tee shirt clinging to his chest and his yoga pants so tight they were nearly painted on. He could see the outline of the firm cuts of his hips, the muscles in his thighs, the round curve of his ass, and he was-

"Okay, Lucy, seriously, let me down or I'm going to fall over," Kurt said.

"Fine, fine," she said, holding him around his waist for balance as he lowered his leg slowly and stretched a little. "Hey, Blaine. What do you need?"

Kurt whipped around, his face going cherry-red and his hair falling over his forehead. Blaine felt the back of his neck heat up. "Uh…I….um…" he stammered, staring at the blush spreading across Kurt's fair cheeks. "I was…Warblers."

"You was Warblers?" Lucy repeated, amused.

"Kurt…go…Warblers," Blaine said. He cleared his throat sharply. "David sent me to tell Kurt that it's time for Warblers rehearsal."

"Oh, now it makes sense," Lucy said. She pinched Kurt's arm lovingly. "Go on, I'll see you at practice tomorrow."

Kurt nodded, grabbing his Dalton Saints cheer bag and zipping out of the gym, nearly knocking Blaine over in his embarrassed haste. Blaine swallowed hard.

"Blaine likes Ku-urt, Blaine likes Ku-urt," Lucy sang, and all Blaine could do was blush harder.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Okay, so, Cheerio!Blaine is cute and adorable and puppyish as a Cheerio, but AHHHH I MISS CHEERIO!KURT. PRECIOUS BOY.

Also, I still adore UST-preKlaine-Dalton stuff. Go prompt some stuff about it, mmkay?

Also, I need to write more about Kurt being on the Dalton cheer squad. Because, see, my headcanon is that Dalton pairs with their sister school, St. Liliana's, for a lot of their extracurriculars, so when Kurt joins the cheer squad, it's a coed squad (the Dalton Saints). And their colors are light blue (for St. Liliana's) and navy (for Dalton). And I know precisely what their uniforms look like. And this is why I need to write more of You and I, because I have a chapter planned about Kurt joining the squad. Hint: it involves the song "Peacock" by Katy Perry. AWESOME.

Also, I love writing Lurty. They're besties. And she isn't whiny like Mercedes or selfish like Rachel. But she doesn't take any guff and calls Kurt out when he needs to be called out. And also I ship Finn and Lucy. NO REGRETS.


	244. Worry

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

This is from the verse where Kurt has younger siblings, and also has UC.

* * *

><p>"Is he sleeping?"<p>

"I think he's sleeping."

Kurt cracked one eye open. His younger brother and sister were pressed up close to the side of his bed, their noses nearly pressed against theirs. "Hi," he croaked. "I was sleeping."

Madeleine wrinkled his nose. "Your breath is gross," she said.

Thomas elbowed her in the side. "Kurt was sleeping!" he said. "Mommy told us not to wake him up."

"But I wanted Kurt to play with us!" Madeleine protested. She clambered onto the bed and plopped down beside him. "I brought my Barbies. Here, Kurt, you can be Miss America."

Kurt caught the doll clumsily before she dropped it on his face. "Maddy, baby…I can't play," he said blearily.

"But why?" Maddy said, perplexed. She waved her Mermaid Hair Teresa Barbie around. "You haven't played with me in forever, KK."

"I'm sick," Kurt said, rubbing his hand over his face. "Too sick to play."

"Yeah, Kurt's dying," Thomas added.

Maddy dropped her doll. "Like…like Bambi's mother?" she whispered. "Kurt's gonna go away forever?"

Kurt struggled to sit up. "Honey, no, I'm not going to die," he said, trying to hide a wince as he pulled his four-year-old sister onto his lap for a cuddle. She burrowed in his arms and clung to his shirt. "I'm okay. I just don't feel good, that's all."

Thomas sat on the corner of the bed cross-legged. "Mr. Puck said you were going to die," he said seriously.

Kurt sighed. "You don't have to call him Mr. Puck," he said. "He was just teasing you. And he's wrong. I'm not going to die."

Maddy wrapped her little arms around Kurt's waist and nuzzled her cheek against his chest. "I love you, KK," she said. She looked up at him, all big blue eyes and freckled cheeks. "If I love you enough, will you stay?"

Kurt hugged her tightly. "I'll stay," he said. He reached over and tugged Thomas into his other side; the little boy only resisted for a moment before snuggling against him. "I'm not going to die. I promise. You just have to wait for me to get better."

"I'll help you get better," Maddy offered.

"Me too," Thomas added.

Kurt smiled and hugged them both, the warmth of their little bodies pressed against his sides easing a little bit of the ache in his chest. He didn't want them to know how sick he really was, but it at least made him feel a little bit better to know how much they loved him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****DON'T WORRY. I SHAN'T KILL HIM OFF.

Also, Maddy calling Puck "Mr. Puck" is one of my favorite things. I feel like she's always toddling behind him and asking to hold his hand and stuff and he's just extremely gentle with her because she reminds him of Beth.

Also, the way Thomas's personality is turning out when I write him makes me wonder about him. I feel like I need to explore this further.

I probably need to put these drabbles in their own story, don't I? It would make things a lot easier for people, especially for people who aren't fans of this verse.


	245. He's So Little

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Truthfully, as excited as Burt Hummel had been about his son finally taking an interest in sports, he was relieved that Kurt was just the placekicker on the football team. The thought of Kurt getting stuck in a bad tackle in the middle of the field sort of made his chest ache. Kurt was just so small for his age. He was nearly sixteen, but he hadn't hit his promised growth spurt yet (his mama had been petite, and he kept telling himself that maybe Kurt was just taking after her) and his cheeks were still babyishly round. Getting a bad hit from some of those giant seniors and juniors could probably crush him.<p>

And so far, Kurt was doing pretty well as the McKinley kicker. Sure, he didn't do a whole lot, and he still had to do that weird dance-y thing to get himself going, but still. He was doing pretty good. And he was happy. At least, he seemed happy. Even with the whole…coming out thing.

He really hadn't been prepared for it, to be honest. Not that he didn't see it coming- oh, no, his wife had been preparing him for the possibility since Kurt was a toddler obsessed with princess dress up and his mother's makeup, and he'd pretty much figured it out for sure himself when he caught his thirteen-year-old son blushing brilliant red at ads for that new Joseph Gordon-Levitt movie. But he hadn't expected Kurt to wait until he was a sophomore to come out, and he definitely had expected more of a spectacle. Kurt was such a type-A, plan it all out kind of boy that he was pretty sure he'd have to endure a powerpoint presentation complete with appropriate film clips and a prewritten speech. He'd even come up with a few rehearsed sentences to match the formality of the occasion. Kurt would like that.

He hadn't expected his son to blurt it out to him while he was getting ready for bed, unbearably tiny in his oversized sweatshirt, his hair sticking up at funny angles with that stupid sweatband thing and his round cheeks red-and-white from exertion and terror. And the rehearsed reply had gone straight out the window. He couldn't even remember what he'd said. Something about…knowing since he was three. And then he hugged him, because dammit, he really didn't do the affection thing much, but when your kid looks at you with big terrified Bambi eyes, all you can do is hug him.

Oh well. It was over, it was out, and even though they hadn't really talked about it too much in the past week or so, it was all in the open. And he made a point of coming to Kurt's glee invitational _and _his football games, just to prove that he was going to support him, no matter what.

Although truth be told, the football games were easier to deal with. The singing and fancy costumes were a little…well, he wasn't used to them. He was used to football. He understood it better.

They called Kurt up to kick and Burt scooted to the end of his seat. "C'mon, Kurt," he called, clapping his hands once. "C'mon, kiddo."

His son jogged out to the field, his helmet looking comically large on his head. He could see the other McKinley player setting up the ball, and Kurt took a few steps back. The dance routine had been scaled back a little with every game; now it just took a handful of steps to get him going.

But it was just enough time.

The second Kurt's foot connected with the ball, a player from the other team tackled him hard, throwing him to the ground. The ball flipped wildly before tumbling a good ten yards short of the goal, but Burt didn't notice. He just stared, openmouthed, as the much-bigger player smashed his son into the ground and out of sight.

It took a second for the world to right itself. The McKinley quarterback yanked the blue-jerseyed guy off of Kurt and threw him back on the ground; another Titan ripped off his helmet and charged at the other team with his fists clenched.

Kurt was on his side, huddled in a tight ball. The quarterback tried to roll him onto his back, but he curled up tighter and suddenly Burt was running down the bleachers, pushing past the other spectators and the players on Kurt's team.

"Mister, you can't-"

"That's my kid!" he bellowed, and he pushed past the coach and onto the field. He knelt down beside Kurt and ran a hand down his back. "Kurt? Kurt, kiddo? Can you answer me?"

Kurt just moaned into his hands, the sound echoing in the depths of his helmet. "I don't think he broke anything, but he's not really moving much," the quarterback worried, his hands hovering over Kurt like he desperately wanted to help but didn't know what to do.

Burt leaned in closer, cupping his hand around the back of Kurt's fragile neck. "Scooter, it's Dad," he said. "Can I take your helmet off, or does your neck hurt?"

"Not my neck, my head," Kurt whimpered, his voice muffled by his mouth guard.

Burt carefully pried the helmet away and ran a hand over Kurt's sweat-dampened hair. "What hurts, bud- oh, god." He gingerly probed the massive bump forming on the side of his head. "Yeah, he clocked you good."

"He's bleeding," the quarterback said, horrified.

Kurt started, looking up at Burt in terror. "It's just a nosebleed," he consoled. "Just a nosebleed. You're all right, buddy."

Truthfully it looked pretty bad- blood was pouring down Kurt's face and neck in bright red rivulets, highlighting the pallor of his skin and the dilation in his blue eyes. The school medic bumped him none-too-gently out of the way and Burt pressed closer to take Kurt's hand. His fingers felt so small and soft in his, like a child's still. But Kurt pulled away, knotting his hands together in his lap anxiously.

He sat back on his haunches as the paramedic looked Kurt over briskly, flashing a penlight in his eyes. "Looks like a bad nosebleed and a mild concussion," he said. "Probably take him to the ER, get him checked out."

"But I can still kick, right?" Kurt said, pushing himself into a sitting position. "I haven't gotten to-"

He choked on the blood running down his throat and Burt reached over to tilt his head forward. "We're gonna go to the emergency room," he said. "No kicking for you."

"But Dad, I have to," Kurt protested. He tried to get up on wobbly legs. "I have to go and…"

Burt caught him under his arms before he could fall over. "We're gonna get you checked out," he said. He hoisted Kurt to his feet and moved to pick him up.

To his surprise, Kurt leaned away. "I can walk," he said, his voice garbled as he spat out a glob of blood.

The quarterback put a hand on his shoulder. "You're sure you're okay, Kurt?" he asked. "He tackled you pretty hard."

Kurt tried to smile at him. "I'm fine," he said. "Thanks, Finn."

Burt put an arm around Kurt's shoulders and walked him off the field. He could feel his son shaking under his support. "You're sure you don't want me to carry you?" he asked.

Kurt shook his head and immediately had to pause and close his eyes. "M'okay," he said, less convincing this time.

It took a little doing to get Kurt into the truck- he couldn't keep his balance and his fingers shook so badly it took three tries to fasten his seatbelt- and Burt couldn't help but feel a spike of panic as Kurt began to drift off to sleep as they drove to the emergency room.

"Stay with me, scooter," he said, squeezing his knee. "You're okay. Stay awake."

Kurt struggled valiantly to obey, and he managed to slide out of the car and wobble into the emergency room on his own, despite Burt's second attempt to pick him up. It was a little disconcerting to see Kurt strive so hard to maintain consciousness, holding his chin high as the doctor probed at him and made him go through an uncomfortable CT scan.

After an hour or so they sent Kurt home with the diagnosis of a bad concussion and strict orders to take it easy. Burt gripped the care instructions and prescription for painkillers a little bit too tightly as they headed home. His son was still quiet, still refusing comfort. He was starting to worry.

He pulled into the driveway and parked, but when Kurt reached for the handle of the door, he locked it. "Kurt," he said as his son blinked in confusion. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"It's just a concussion," Kurt said. "I'll be okay."

Burt squeezed his knee. "No, not that," he said. "I mean…you're not talking, bud. You didn't even want me to hold your hand. Are you sure everything's all right?"

Kurt gazed steadfastly out the window. "I'm just…sorry," he said.

"Sorry for what, buddy?" Burt asked.

"Sorry that I…disappointed you."

Burt just stared at him. "Kurt," he said. "You haven't disappointed me. Not at all."

"But I'm…I didn't get to kick," Kurt said, his voice sounding small as he stared out the window. "Can I go inside now?

"That big guy knocked you out," Burt said. "It wasn't your fault."

"But I…I don't want to be…" Kurt started to say. A big tear rolled down his cheek and he swiped it away hastily. "I don't want you to think I'm a pansy, Dad, okay?"

Burt stared at him in horror. "What the hell makes you think that?" he stammered.

"Because…when you watch football and somebody gets hurt, you always start yelling about…'walk it off, you pansy, don't be a wuss'," Kurt quoted softly, and another fat tear rolled down his cheek and dripped down his chin.

"Oh, Kurt," Burt said. "Kurt, scooter, I…there's no way I could think that about you."

"But you know I'm gay now, and that makes it worse!" Kurt burst out, and he began to sob in earnest like the scared child he was.

Burt unbuckled his seatbelt and reached across the center console to pull him into a hug. "Kiddo, I wasn't thinking that at all," he said, smoothing Kurt's hair. "Not even a little bit. You were real brave tonight, and I'm proud of you. I'm proud of you no matter what."

"Even if I'm gay and I suck at football?" Kurt sobbed.

"You don't suck," Burt said firmly. "And gay has nothing to do with it." He paused. "Is that why you wouldn't let me hold your hand? You thought…you thought I'd think it was a gay thing?"

He felt Kurt nod against his shoulder.

"I don't think that at all," Burt said, pulling him closer. "That's not a gay thing. That's a you thing. You've always wanted to hold my hand, or your mom's. when you were scared or upset, ever since you were little. I don't think any less of you for wanting to hold my hand, or needing to cry."

"You don't cry," Kurt mumbled into his shoulder.

"You think I didn't cry when we lost your mama?" Burt said.

He felt Kurt turn his head a little, resting his cheek against the curve of his neck, the way he would always seek comfort when he was just a little bitty thing. He was still little, Burt realized, and he wasn't going to be little for much longer. He already had the uncomfortable look of a child growing into a man, and it made his heart give an unsettling lurch.

Burt rubbed his thumb against the tender skin at the nape of Kurt's neck. "Let's get you inside, okay?" he said. He pulled a little bit away from Kurt, scrutinizing the dried blood around his nose and the pallor of his wet cheeks. "Go get cleaned up and go to bed."

Kurt sniffled hard and tried to smile. "I love you, Dad," he whispered.

Burt grinned and cupped his chin in his hand. "I love you too, scooter," he said.

"And Dad? Can I…can I quit football?"

Burt chuckled softly. "Yeah, bud," he said. "You can quit football if you want." He patted Kurt's cheek, earning a tentative, relieved smile from his little boy.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

You know, I always wondered why they never said how Kurt quit the football team. He just...wasn't there anymore. Well, then again, it's Glee. They don't really do explanations.

But yeah! This is how I filled in the gap.

And also there are Hummel men feels. Because I have a lot of them.

Also, the title for this drabble comes from one of my favorite scenes. Well, Preggers is one of my favorite episodes, because it's the first Kurt-centric episode, but I think it's one of the best ones in season 1, mostly for how they introduce Burt. They introduce him in such a way that you don't get a good read on him- he seems like he really does care about his son, but you also don't get a very reassuring vibe about how he'll react if Kurt comes out to him. He might be okay with it, but it kind of feels like he might turn on him.

But when he comes to the football game, and he's shouting "that's my kid! that's my kid!" when Kurt kicks. And when he sees him on the field and he just shakes his head and says "He's so little." Ugh. I had one of my first major feels moments at that point. It's just that sense that he loves his kid, and he worries for him.

And then...the coming out scene. The coming out scene is just so wonderful. Chris Colfer is just perfect. There's no affectation in that scene. He's just so vulnerable and scared and lost. And then Burt's reaction. I don't know about you, but the very first time I watched that episode I heaved a huge sigh of relief, because oh my god, if he had gotten angry at that sweet child- or worse, hurt him or kicked him out of the house- my heart would have shattered. But everything's okay, and you can see Kurt just collapse against him because he was that scared.

Ugh. I have feels all over again.

And then the parallels from that scene to "Laryngitis," when Kurt thinks he's losing his dad to Finn and tries to be the kind of son he thinks his father wants, and Burt sees him singing "Rose's Turn" and they talk. Oh god. Break my heart, why don't you? I don't even have words for how perfect that scene is. But do you know what my favorite part is? It's when Kurt is clearly trying to keep his emotions in check and Burt just gets this _look _on his face and says "oh, come here," and he pulls him into a hug. And then he tells him he loves him, with such a catch in his voice, and _alsdkjfldsjfldjfldlfdjklslkd feels._

And I posted a drabble a few chapters back about how Kurt has this quirk of, when he really needs to be comforted, turning his cheek a certain way. He does it in both of those scenes, and then he does it again when he hugs his dad goodbye at the airport before he flies to New York.

BRB, gonna go eat my feelings and weep into a cupcake.


	246. Skinny

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

(this is from the verse where Kurt has UC)

* * *

><p>"So what are you going to wear?" Blaine asked, leaning back on Kurt's bed.<p>

Kurt shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Clothes?"

Blaine sat up and studied his boyfriend carefully. They were going out for the first time since Kurt had been released from the hospital, and they'd both been looking forward to Quinn's birthday party since the invite went up on Facebook. Kurt had been excited about finally getting out of the house, and Blaine was just relieved to see him excited about something for the first time in a while. But now he seemed completely disinterested, curled up on his bed in sweatpants and one of his father's button-up shirts with his make-up math homework spread across his lap.

"We have to leave for the party in an hour," Blaine said. "Don't you want to get dressed?"

Kurt made a careful mark on his math homework. "This'll be fine, right?" he said, his voice too light, too nonchalant.

Blaine reached over and slipped his pencil out of his hand. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Nothing," Kurt said, dropping his hands to his lap and knotting his fingers together.

"Kurt, do you really want to go to Quinn's party dressed like that?" Blaine asked softly. "I know you. And that's not like you?"

Kurt raised and lowered one shoulder apathetically, looking straight at the picture frame behind Blaine's head. "I don't really have a choice," he said bitterly.

"Why not?' Blaine asked, fiddling with the pencil.

"Because I look like a skeleton."

The pencil slipped from Blaine's hands. Kurt was still looking away from him, but he could tell by the firm set of his jaw that he was upset, maybe even near tears. "You don't look like a-"

Kurt jerked away from him. "You haven't seen me, Blaine," he said sharply. "I mean, you've seen me but you haven't…" He plucked at the collar of his oversized shirt. "Underneath all this, I…I've lost fifteen pounds from throwing up all the time. The doctors won't let me work out so I don't have any real muscle. I look like-"

Blaine covered his mouth with his fingertips. Kurt finally turned to look at him, blue eyes too bright in his pale face. "I don't care," he said softly. "I fell in love with you, not what you looked like."

Kurt ripped off his shirt and threw it on the ground in disgust. "So you're telling me you still find this attractive?" he said bitterly.

Blaine squeezed Kurt's knees, looking him up and down. Kurt did look thin, dangerously thin, his ribs jutting out and his collarbone sharp. It made the thinness of his cheek and the hollow of his throat stand out even more, making him look gaunt. He hadn't seen exactly how much damage Kurt's illness had done to his body, and it made his heart ache. "You will always be attractive to me," he said, cupping Kurt's cheeks in his hands. "When I look at you, I don't see anything that disgusts me or turns me away. I just see the boy I love most in the world…and he's sick, and he's hurting, and…I can't fix it, but I can at least be here with you. I don't care what you look like, Kurt, I just…I love you."

Kurt slowly leaned forward and dropped his head against Blaine's shoulder. Blaine pulled him into a hug, stroking his thin bare back, and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Not any good notes for today. Brain fried. Here have sads.


	247. Mistaken Kiss Identity

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"…it's just so gross, his mouth is always way, way too open."<p>

Kurt ducked by the lockers and peeked around the corner. Blaine and Brittany were standing by the water fountain, deep in conversation. Brittany nodded enthusiastically. "I know exactly what you're talking about, Blaine Warbler," she said. "It happens to me all the time."

"It's just…his tongue is always hanging out and slobbering all over me," Blaine said, waving his hands around. "And he does not brush his teeth nearly enough. It's disgusting."

"That's why he should rinse his mouth out with soda like I do," Brittany said. "I recommend Sprite. It's very nice and fresh. I don't recommend the strawberry Fanta, though. It makes me look like a vampire, and I don't like it."

"I don't think soda will help, Britt," Blaine said. "He always has food stuck between his teeth, so I can always smell whatever he just ate. It's nasty."

Kurt slunk back around the corner, his hand over his mouth. _I thought Blaine _liked _kissing me, _he thought. _He's never said anything like that. Why didn't he say anything?_

He ran down the hall for the bathroom, already reaching into his bag for the toothbrush and toothpaste he kept on hand. Usually he just brushed his teeth after lunch, but apparently that wasn't enough. Maybe he needed to brush after every class. Although…oh god, that wasn't going to fix the whole tongue thing. He was slobbery? He couldn't keep his tongue in his mouth?

Life was over.

He brushed his teeth for a solid five minutes, scrubbing vigorously until his gums began to bleed and the late bell rang. His whole mouth felt clean and stinging, his taste buds overwhelmed with overly-strong artificial peppermint, but maybe that wasn't enough. Maybe he needed to start carrying around mouthwash too. Maybe he could go to the dentist and ask for some sort of…prescription-grade toothpaste.

He walked into the choir room, hugging his binder to his chest. Blaine was sitting in their usual spot, chatting with Santana laughing. Kurt sat down on the edge of the seat without talking, still clutching his binder

"Hey, honey," Blaine smiled. "You didn't come to my locker. I thought we were going to walk to glee together."

He leaned in to offer a hello kiss. Kurt shut his eyes tightly and puckered his lips, barely touching Blaine's mouth. Blaine leaned back and frowned. "What was that?" he said.

"A kiss," Kurt mumbled, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

"No, no, I've kissed you _a lot _and that wasn't a kiss," Blaine said. He tugged Kurt's hand away. "What's wrong?"

"I'm trying to not gross you out," Kurt said out of the corner of his mouth.

Blaine's frown deepened. "Kurt, you don't gross me out," he said. "Ever. What's gotten into you?"

Kurt raised his chin. "I heard you talking to Brittany about what a bad kisser I am," he said stiffly. "Apparently I use too much tongue and I have a mouth like a cesspool. You know, you could have just said something to me instead of telling Brittany about how disgusting I am."

"But I…I never…I wasn't…" Blaine sputtered. His eyes widened and he clapped his hand over his mouth. "Oh my god. You thought…"

He leaned back and laughed. Kurt stiffened. "There's no need to mock me, Blaine Anderson," he snapped. "I'm hurt enough already."

"No, no…babe, Brittany and I weren't talking about you," Blaine laughed. "We were talking about Snowy."

Kurt paused. "Your dog?" he said.

"Uh-huh," Brittany said, leaning in between them. "We were talking about how gross it can be when cats and dogs give you kisses. Lord Tubbington always smells like tuna and vodka. It's not a good combination."

"And Snowy- my _dog- _is always really slobbery," Blaine said. "You've been to my house, you know how he is."

"He's drooled on every pair of pants I've ever worn to your house," Kurt admitted.

Blaine cupped Kurt's cheeks in his hands and kissed him, slow and deep. "There," he said in satisfaction. "I love kissing you. You are perfect. Do you believe me?"

Kurt leaned in closer. "I might need a little more convincing," he said, gazing up at Blaine through his lashes.

Blaine's smile widened and he kissed Kurt hungrily, biting lightly at his lips until Kurt opened his mouth and let him kiss him more deeply, more thoroughly.

"All right, all right, that's enough PDA," Mr. Schue sighed. "It's hard to sing when you have your tongues down each other's throats."

Brittany raised her hand. "Actually, Mr. Schue, you can-" she began, but Santana reached over to lower her hand and shook her head.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****ADORABLE BOYS.

Also! I forgot to add this yesterday, but thank you to all the lovely people who reminded me that Kurt did, in fact, mention quitting the football team! It was the episode where Tanaka makes them pick between glee and football. I had totally forgotten about it! Thanks for reminding me. :)

(And also it's time for me to rewatch season 1, apparently...)


	248. Overenthusiastic

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

(This is from the 'verse where Kurt has younger siblings- and yes, it's going to get a series of its own!)

* * *

><p>Kurt reached for his glass of Gatorade on the nightstand and paused. He hadn't even realized that he'd finished drinking it. With a sigh he reached for his remote and paused the movie. Technically he should text his mother and let her know he needed more to drink- his parents had given strict instructions that he shouldn't get up and risk straining the stitches on his stomach. But he just felt so lazy, and his poor mother had already been running up and down the stairs all day, bringing him things and taking care of the kids. He just needed a drink. He could be down and back in five minutes. It would be fine.<p>

He eased himself carefully out of bed, pressing his hand against his stitches as if he could hold everything in that way. The colonectomy had been successful, but it didn't mean he was out of the woods just yet.

Cautiously he made his way down the stairs, holding on tight to the railing with his empty glass clutched in his other hand. His knees wobbled unsteadily and his head swam; he was beginning to regret the choice to leave his comfortable nest upstairs. But he was so thirsty, and he'd been warned that letting himself get thirsty would only lead to dehydration, which could send him back to the hospital.

He snuck into the kitchen, his socked feet making no noise on the floor, and tugged the fridge door open. Three bottles of Gatorade lined the top shelf, and he winced a little as he reached up to grab it. His abdomen was still not really that fond of stretching, especially now that he would never get to have a six-pack.

He twisted off the cap and poured bright blue liquid into his glass, the lip of the bottle shaking against the rim. It nearly spilled, but he hefted it back up in time and set it back on the counter. He had just stuck the cap back on when two inquisitive little faces peeped around the doorframe.

"KK!" Maddy squealed.

"Kurt's up! Kurt's up!" Thomas shouted, and Kurt didn't have time to brace himself before his younger siblings raced into the kitchen and flung themselves joyfully against them.

He opened his mouth to protest, but all of a sudden the room spun and the breath slammed out of his lungs and his knees buckled. Unable to stop himself, he hit the floor hard, dropping backwards and striking his head on the kitchen cabinet, and for a split second everything went black.

He opened his eyes and found himself staring at the ceiling. "Kurt? Kurt, honey, can you hear me?"

He swallowed hard, trying to put the pieces back together. "Yeah," he mumbled, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth. His head was resting on his mother's knees and she was stroking his hair. "What…happened?"

"The littles got too excited and knocked you over," Mollie said. She raked her fingers anxiously through his hair. "What on earth were you thinking, Kurt, getting out of bed and walking downstairs?"

"I was thirsty," he said lamely.

"Next time you ask me or Daddy, all right?" she said. He nodded a little. She leaned over him and kissed his forehead. "Don't scare me like that, precious."

Burt walked into the kitchen. "What the hell were you thinking, scooter?" he said.

Kurt closed his eyes. "Mom already went over this, Dad," he sighed.

"You should've known better," Burt said, crouching down beside him. He lifted up the hem of Kurt's sleep shirt and ran his fingertips lightly over the dark line of stitches. "It doesn't look like you popped anything, but how're you feeling? Any pain?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Kurt said.

Burt pulled his shirt down over his thin belly and scooped him up out of Mollie's lap. "All right, back into bed for you," he said.

"Wait," Kurt said. "Are the kids okay? Did I scare them?"

Mollie sighed. "Maddy, Teeby, you can come out," she said.

The two little Hummels peeked out from under the kitchen table. "We're sorry, Kurt," Thomas whispered.

"Really sorry," Maddy echoed. "We thought you were coming to play."

"I'm not ready to play yet, baby," Kurt said. "But I know you didn't mean to do it. It's okay."

Mollie stood up and squeezed Kurt's hip. "Let's get you back into bed, sweetheart," she said. "I'll tuck you in."

Burt adjusted Kurt against his chest and Kurt wrapped his arms around his neck to keep from falling. "Could you bring me some Gatorade?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, baby, I can," Mollie laughed, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****This drabble is entitled "I'm burned out and not writing as well as I should be, so upon a second reading I really dislike this drabble."

Gahhhhh. I don't know what's going on with me. It's just frustrating. My zeal for writing ebbs and flows, and there's nothing I can do to control it. I've been in a dry spell for months. Everything feels like pulling teeth. And do you know what's awful? Sometimes it just happens. And I can't just magically flip a "no-more-writer's-block!" switch and fix it.

So in the meantime...RAURGH.

I know part of it is the cycling nature of my disorder, and part of it is my job stressing me out like whoa. And part of it is just my brain saying "NO."

So it's frustrating.

I hope you'll bear with me. I'm doing what I can to help things along!


	249. Poor Sick Blainers

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Blaine hunched over his desk, his arms wrapped around his stomach. He could hear the teacher talking, but it sounded thick and far away, like he was trapped underwater. The fabric of his thick blazer bunched around his shoulders, scratching at the tender skin at the nape of his neck, but no matter how tightly he pulled it around himself, he didn't feel warm.<p>

"…Mr. Anderson?"

He looked up blearily to see the rest of the class staring at him. "Do you have an answer for us, Mr. Anderson?" his histor teacher pressed.

Blaine rubbed his eyes and squinted at the chalkboard. The lights were too bright, making his head ache and his vision swim. "Um…1865?" he guessed, his voice raspy.

Apparently that satisfied his teacher, who turned back to the board and continued lecturing. Blaine rested his cheek on his forearm, pencil balanced limply in his fingers in a half-hearted attempt to look like he was taking notes.

He had only closed his eyes for a second when someone tapped him on the shoulder. With a vicious jerk he leaped back, arms up over his face, nearly knocking his chair over.

"Whoa, hey, it's okay," a voice said, and Blaine rubbed his eyes to see Nick standing in front of his desk, hands up in surrender. "It's just me."

Blaine sagged in relief, his heart still racing in his chest. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Class is over, Blaine," Nick said. "The bell rang and everybody left."

Blaine reached for his schoolbag, shoving his notebook clumsily inside. "I didn't hear it," he said. "I think I fell asleep."

"I think you did," Nick said. He shifted his weight. "Listen, the senior Warblers are having a mixer for the freshmen tonight, before we go to regionals next week. Do you want to come?"

Blaine hesitated. He wasn't in the Warblers because he wanted to be, or even because he auditioned- the headmaster had discussed it with his parents and his therapist, saying it was the best choice of extracurricular activities for him, to help him socialize and adjust. He was starting to warm up to it, now that he'd been at Dalton for a few months. The other boys were nice, if a little distant. Not like his old school.

"I might," he said at last. "I, uh…have some homework. Have to meet my tutor."

"Okay," Nick said, clearly not offended by being brushed off. "You could always drop by for a little bit later. The party's in the rehearsal room until eleven."

"'Kay," Blaine said, shouldering his bag and looking down at his shoes. "Thanks."

Nick smiled at him and left the classroom. Blaine suppressed a sigh and followed him, heading down the hall towards his dorm. He hated going to tutoring. He had always been a smart kid, never needing to study much and completing his homework on time. But Dalton Academy for Boys was a lot harder than Radnor High School, and after failing every class at his midterm report card, his parents had insisted on signing him up for tutoring three days a week.

Blaine braced himself for the chill of the afternoon as he walked outside, huddling in the shield of his blazer. Tutoring three days a week, Warblers rehearsal every day, sessions with the child psychologist on Mondays and Thursdays, physical therapy on Fridays…it was amazing he hadn't gone insane yet.

Then again, some days he was pretty sure he had.

He used his key fob to let himself in the back way to his dorm and climbed the stairs to his room, shivering violently under the uncomfortable fabric of his starched uniform blazer. His legs ached as he climbed the stairs.

_I'll just take a nap before Cooper picks me up for tutoring, _he thought as he stumbled into his room. _He won't be here for thirty minutes. It's okay. I can just sleep a little._

He shrugged out of his uniform and into a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt before crawling into bed, pulling his comforter up around his ears. The sheets were cold against his bare feet and he huddled up into a tight ball. His left knee ached badly; the stitches had been removed weeks ago, but sometimes he felt the phantom pain of them pulling at his skin.

_Just a short nap, and I'll be okay, _he thought, just before he fell into a heavy, dull sleep.

He woke sluggishly to find his room dark, illuminated only by the faint warm light of his bedside lamp. Someone was sitting beside him, making the bed sink under their weight, and a hand was gently stroking his forehead.

"No, I haven't taken his temperature, are you kidding me? Wait, you mean it's not the one where I stick it up his- okay, Francey, let it go. I don't think he has a thermometer in his dorm room anyway."

Blaine squeezed his eyes shut and opened them slowly to see his older brother frowning beside him, his phone pressed to his ear. "Okay, I'll…okay. Okay. Frances, I said okay," Cooper said. "We'll be home in a little bit. Yeah. Uh-huh. Love you too. Bye."

Cooper hung up the phone and stuck it in his pocket, then started a little when he realized Blaine's eyes were open. "Oh, you're awake," he said. "God, that scared me."

"Whas gon on?" Blaine mumbled, rubbing at his face.

"I sat outside for twenty minutes, waiting for you to meet me at the car so I could drive you to tutoring," Cooper said. "You didn't show up and you didn't answer your phone, so I came looking for you." He raked his fingers through Blaine's damp curls. "I'm pretty sure you're sick. I'm not entirely sure, because I'm never sick myself and I try not to spend time around sick people unless I'm researching for a role, but I called Francey and she says I should bring you home." He patted Blaine's chest. "Come on, squirt. Up and at 'em."

Blaine sat up, and the second the blankets fell away he shivered violently. Cooper frowned. "Are you cold?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's like an igloo in here," Blaine said, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand.

"But you're really hot," Cooper frowned. He went over to the closet and grabbed the first hoodie he found, a navy blue zipup with the Warblers logo and Blaine's name embroidered in pretty script on the front. "Here, put this on."

Blaine struggled into it, his arms numb and clumsy. He could barely grip the zipper pull and Cooper had to do it for him, zipping the jacket up to his chin. "I don't have to carry you, do I?" Cooper frowned.

Blaine leaned his head forward until his cheek was pressed against his older brother's stomach. "If I walk, I'm going to fall over," he warned, his voice slurring.

Cooper sighed and scooped him up. "If you strain my back, you'll have to explain to my agent why I can't make any of my auditions," he warned.

Blaine slid his hands in his pockets and dropped his head on Cooper's shoulder, falling back to sleep almost instantly.

He opened his eyes a second later and started in surprise. "Where am I?" he said, scrambling to sit up.

"Oh _hell _no, none of that," his sister scolded, pushing him back down. "Stick this in your mouth."

"But I-"

She jammed a thermometer under his tongue. "Hold that still in your mouth or I'm going to fucking bite you," she warned.

Cooper hovered anxiously above Francey's shoulder. "I swear I thought he was dead," he worried. "I mean, I picked him up and boom, asleep. He didn't even notice when I almost missed the turn lane and had to swerve past that minivan."

"You shouldn't be allowed to drive," Blaine murmured.

"Hush, brattypants," Francey said sternly. She leaned over and nibbled on his shoulder. "See? I told you I would bite you." The thermometer beeped and she pulled it out of his mouth.

Cooper leaned over her. "What's it say? What's it say?" he asked.

Francey planted her hand on his forehead and shoved him back. "He's at 103," she said.

"Is that bad?" Cooper pressed.

Francey raised an eyebrow. "Thank God I'm the Anderson in medical school and not you," she said.

"Seriously, is that bad?" Cooper asked. "Should we call Dad and Hannah?"

"It's pretty high," Francey admitted. She smoothed the blankets on Blaine's bed, tucking him in tighter. "And he's got pretty bad chills. What else are you feeling, Babbie? Headache, nausea?"

"Head hurts," Blaine said.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "You'll be okay," she said. "I'll keep an eye on you tonight, and if you get any worse we'll take you to the emergency room and call Mom and Dad to come home from their trip."

"Please, no emergency room," Blaine sighed. "I've had enough of that."

"Well, then don't get sicker, then," Francey said, rolling her eyes.

"Want me to get you anything?" Cooper asked. "What do sick children like? Should I get you a coloring book?"

"God, Cooper, he's fourteen, not four," Francey said. "There's liquid Tylenol in Mom and Dad's bathroom cabinet. Get me that and some Gatorade." She smoothed Blaine's hair away from his forehead. "Have you eaten much today?"

"I'm a little hungry," he admitted, closing his eyes at the gentle touch of her fingertips.

"There's a box of oyster crackers in the pantry, go get him some," Francey said. "And run cold water over a washcloth, that'll help bring his fever down."

Cooper blinked. "Could you write that down?" he asked. "That's…that's a lot to remember."

"You do know actors have to memorize their lines, right?"

"Yes, but I'm very good with improv."

"Not as good as you think you are."

"Stop fighting, I'm sick," Blaine whined, nestling closer to his sister.

Francey handed a post-it note to Cooper. "There," she said. "Think you can manage that?"

"I suppose," Cooper said, sticking his nose in the air and stomping out of the room.

Francey laid down on the bed beside Blaine, pulling his blankets up to his chin. "You'll better soon, baby," she promised, kissing his cheek. "Cooper signed you out for the weekend and you don't have to get back on campus until class on Monday morning. But if you're still running a fever, you're staying home with me, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," Blaine murmured sleepily. He cuddled against her warmth, wrapping his arms around her waist. She began to toy with his hair, smoothing his curls and scratching gently at his scalp, and he relaxed at the soothing touch. He was home, he was safe, and no one was going to hurt him here. His eyes began to close and he sank into the protection of his sister's arms, already sinking back into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Usually when I write schmoop, it's with Kurt, not Blaine, so this is an exciting change of pace!

This is set pretty soon after Blaine's initial transfer to Dalton, so he's all angsty and whatnot. But I love Cooper and Francey. They're so loving yet dysfunctional. It's a joy to write them, especially when they're bantering and not fighting.

I have a lot of headcanon for Blaine's first year or so at Dalton, and I really need to write them. One prompt in particular is sitting in my askbox and I'm mulling around the proper fill for it! Hopefully it'll drag me out of my slump. :)


	250. Caught in the Act

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Boys, must you do this in the living room?"<p>

"Mom!" Kurt shrieked, scrambling off of Blaine's lap and falling backwards on his butt onto the floor. "I thought…you weren't supposed…uh…"

"This is what I get for coming home early," Mollie sighed.

"Mrs. Hummel, I…I'm really sorry," Blaine stammered, wriggling around to maneuver his jeans back up his hips and zip them up. His cheeks, ears, and neck had turned fire-engine red. "We were just-"

"Dry humping on my couch?" Mollie said, raising an eyebrow.

"Mother!" Kurt gasped.

"Don't act so horrified, Kurt Elijah, that's precisely what you two were doing," Mollie said. "And honey, fix your pants. I haven't seen that much of your pelvis since your potty-training days." Kurt, so red in embarrassment that his cheeks were nearly purple, yanked the waistband of his pants all the way up to his navel. "Boys…sit down."

"Do we have to talk about this?" Kurt whimpered.

Mollie sank down in the armchair across from the couch and crossed one leg over the other, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. "Well, I didn't want to have this conversation until you were at least thirty, but it seems like it had better happen now," she said. "Sit."

The boys obeyed hastily, plunking down on opposite sides of the couch with their hands folded meekly in their laps. Mollie sighed deeply. "Kurt, honey, we've had the sex talk," she said. "And we had the revised sex talk part two when we talked about what boys do when they're together. But that was when you were younger, and still single. Now that there's an actual boy in the picture-"

Blaine looked down at his shoes, the back of his neck scarlet.

"-we have to talk about this, practically," she finished. "First of all. Have the two of you slept to-"

"No!" they both blurted out.

"No, ma'am, we haven't."

"No plans for that yet."

"Not at all."

"Okay," she said, flexing her fingers. "So. I'm guessing that you've at least done…_this _a few times. Correct?"

The boys stayed quiet. She leveled her best mother-glare at Kurt, who melted quickly under pressure. "Ye-e-es," he admitted reluctantly. "But we're still clothed! Mostly!"

"Okay, okay, you don't need to overshare," Mollie said, flapping her hands in warning. She exhaled slowly. "All right. I guess…well, boys, I just don't want you to get hurt. I know you're young and in love and tremendously hormonal, but…this sort of activity still affects you. Not just physically, but emotionally. You might not be having full-out sex, but you're still allowing yourselves to be intimate with each other. You need to be careful, okay? Don't pressure each other or push too far to go further than you're comfortable. Don't be afraid to take a step back and slow down. You're young and you have plenty of time ahead of you to enjoy sex. I'd rather you waited until you felt it was absolutely one-hundred-percent right than rushing into anything. In fact, err on the side of waiting. Wait as long as you want." She leaned back and eyed them carefully. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," Blaine said, and Kurt nodded vigorously.

"Here are the ground rules," she said. "Don't make out in the living room, because Mommy and Daddy live here too and we'd really prefer not to walk in on you. Don't make out in parked cars, because if we get a call from the cops, I'm sending your father to get you, Kurt, and he will not be pleased. And if and when you decide to have sex, please use a condom. Going without a condom doesn't mean you love and trust each other, it just means you're asking for trouble. Yes ma'am?"

"Yes, ma'am," they echoed.

"And you'll want to be sure that the condoms aren't expired or torn," Mollie added. "That's how this one happened."

She pointed at Kurt, who hid his face in his hands. "God, Mom, not this story," he moaned.

"I don't…what?" Blaine said, blinking in confusion.

"Oh, he hasn't told you?" Mollie said. She grinned. "It's a fun story. Now, I was about to start my senior year, and so Burt and I went on a camping trip at the lake before school started, and we decided to have a little fun out on the dock, and we didn't bother to check if the condom was ripped or not. Nine months later and-" She gestured to Kurt. "We had a darling little reminder of how much fun we had."

"Mother!" Kurt screeched. "Why do you have to tell that story?"

Mollie grinned as she got up and pinched Kurt's cheek. "Now, Blaine, you and Kurt don't need to worry about having an oops baby like I did, but you can still get in an awful lot of trouble if you don't use protection," she warned.

"Um…okay," Blaine said.

Kurt buried his face in his hands. "Mom, I _really _don't want to think about you and Dad…having relations," he said.

"Yes, well, my dear, think about that next time you want to make out your boyfriend on _my _couch."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****One of my favorite running gags is Kurt being an oops baby. ADORBS.

Whenever I write Finn and Kurt as brothers, I like referencing them as both being oops babies (in season 1, Carole mentions he was conceived on a pinball machine, so I like to assume oops baby.)

OH AND I JUST REALIZED THAT IT'S EVEN FUNNIER BECAUSE WHEN I WRITE EMILY, EMILY WAS AN OOPS BABY TOO, BECAUSE BURT AND CAROLE THOUGHT THEY WERE TOO OLD TO HAVE BABIES!

I am amused.


	251. Other Lives

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Finn huddled on the waiting room chair, his arms wrapped around his long skinny legs and his forehead pressed against his knees. Someone had draped a fuzzy blanket around him, but he still felt cold. His neck ached, and the gash they'd stitched up on his forehead still throbbed, but it was like he wasn't even there anymore.<p>

He could hear the grownups talking in low voices behind him, something about "locate the next of kin" and "contact child protective services" and "poor thing, only eight years old, and his father's dead too."

His eyes welled. He had never had a dad- his daddy had gone to heaven when he was only three months old, because he was a brave soldier and the bad guys killed him- and now his mom was gone too. He didn't even remember it. All he could remember was driving down the street in the front seat of his mom's station wagon, and then a huge crash, like the time when he was little and climbed on his grandmother's china cabinet and tipped it over. And then he woke up in the hospital.

The grownups had talked about it when they thought he wasn't listening. Something about "T-boned at the intersection" and "killed on impact" and "thank God her little boy was unconscious."

He pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders and swiped at his running nose with his sleeve. For a second he started guiltily, waiting for his mother to scold him and hand him a tissue out of her purse, and then he remembered. He huddled in a tighter ball and started to cry quietly, his face buried in his arms.

"I'm looking for Finn Hudson, he was admitted two hours ago, he and his mother-"

He looked up, rubbing at his wet eyes. His mother's best friend was standing at the nurse's station, safe and familiar and reassuring in the middle of all that strangeness.

"Aunt Mollie," he croaked, and she turned to catch sight of him.

She ran over to him and knelt beside the chair, pulling him into a warm tight hug. "Oh, honey," she said, pressing her hand against the back of his head. "Oh, honey, it's going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay."

He wrapped his arms tight around her neck. "I want my mom!" he wailed, bursting into tears.

Aunt Mollie rubbed his back and pulled him into her lap, sitting down on the floor. "I know," she said. "I know, baby."

"Ma'am? Are you family?"

Finn leaned closer to Aunt Mollie, away from the grim-faced police officer. "Practically," she said. "I've been best friends with Carole since we were in high school. I'm Finn's godmother. My husband and I…she made a provision in her will, just in case something…something happened, that we would get custody."

Finn buried his face in her neck, whimpering into her shoulder as she continued to talk to the police officers and the nurses. She stayed on the floor, rocking him a little on her lap, her hand stroking steadily through his hair.

He heard Uncle Burt come stomping in and start yelling at the officers, demanding that they let him go home with them, that he'd been through enough. When he finally stopped yelling, he picked Finn up as if he was as little as his own small son and helped Aunt Mollie to her feet.

"C'mon, bud," Uncle Burt said, his voice thick. "You're coming home with us."

He didn't say much during the drive back to their house, but Aunt Mollie sat beside him the whole way, holding his hand. When they got there, Uncle Burt carried him in and settled him on the couch. Aunt Mollie silently got a change of clothes from Kurt's room and helped him out of his bloody things before tucking him in, turning on a movie, and giving him a mug of warm milk.

Kurt's babysitter dropped him off at the house about halfway through the movie. "I'm home, Mommy!" he called joyfully, skipping into the foyer and kicking out of his sneakers. "I'm home, Daddy!" He hopped into the living room. "Finn! Hi, Finn!" He tilted his head to the side like an inquisitive baby bird. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

Uncle Burt walked out of the kitchen and beckoned to him. "C'mere, scooter," he said. Kurt frowned but went to him, his frown deepening in confusion as his father picked him up and hugged him tight.

Finn scooted down further under the blankets, trying to focus on the movie. He could hear muffled voices from the kitchen, the low gentle tones of Uncle Burt's voice and Kurt's high pitched piping.

"What do you mean, Aunt Carole went to heaven?" Kurt cried, and Finn pulled the blanket over his head. He could hear Kurt crying and Uncle Burt comforting him, patient and soothing, and tears began to prick behind his eyes again.

The couch sank softly as someone sat down beside him, and the blanket was tugged down just far enough for him to squint up at Aunt Mollie. He wriggled around to lie down with his head on her lap, and she began to stroke his hair lightly without saying a word.

After a while Kurt came out of the kitchen, his eyes red and his nose running. He wiped at his wet flushed cheeks with the backs of his hands and bent over Finn, pressing a light hesitant kiss on his cheek. Then he fled to his mother, flinging himself against her side and burying his face against her breastbone. She held him tight in the crook of her arm, kissing his forehead, and continued to stroke Finn's hair. The three of them sat quietly, mourning the loss of a friend and a mother and a godmother, and Finn began to drift off to sleep as Aunt Mollie smoothed his hair. He missed his mother so badly it felt like his heart had fallen out of his chest, but at least he didn't feel quite so scared anymore.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I love it when I get really unusual and original prompts! Nine times out of ten I get excited about them but can't come up with a convincing fill. But this one seemed to click!

Basically, Mollie and Carole were best friends in high school (although I feel like Carole was a couple of years older). They were one of those really unlikely best friend pairings- Mollie was the sweet vivacious little captain of the Cheerios, and Carole was sensible and a hard worker and an honor society member, but didn't do any extracurriculars because she had an afterschool job. And Carole wasn't a romantic, really, but she never thought she would get married, so when Christopher proposed she said yes and they got married in a few weeks before he got shipped out, and even though Mollie was worried, she was Carole's maid of honor. And then Carole got pregnant with Finn, and Mollie was all excited about it, and the Mollie accidentally got pregnant with Kurt and Carole got all excited, and she was the witness when Mollie and Burt snuck off to the courthouse, and they were pregnant mamas-to-be together, and Carole had Finn in January of 1994 while Christopher was still deployed (and she had to be induced because it was like two weeks past her due date, which, knowing Finn, it figures). And then Mollie had Kurt in April, a month early. And they were godmothers to each others' sons, and Mollie babysat Finn while Carole was at work or at nursing school, and everything was perfect. And then there was everything with Christopher, and his death, and Burt took care of all the funeral arrangements while Mollie took care of Carole and the babies.

And then Carole was killed in a car accident, and Mollie and Burt got custody of Finn and legally adopted him before his ninth birthday, so Kurt and Finn were brothers and best friends, and even though they grew apart a bit in middle school, they were always fiercely protective and staunchly proud of each other, and yes.

Please enjoy yet another AU headcanon of mine.

(And feel free to prompt for this verse! My writer's block- more like writer's drought, if I'm honest- feels like it's improving a little. Fingers crossed that my mind starts working better soon!)


	252. Laryngitis Part I

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Ever since his mother died, Kurt had gotten pretty good at hiding when he was sick. He learned that pretty early on. When he was little and his mother could take care of him, he was spoiled to death- staying home from school, eating ice cream on the couch while watching movies, being cuddled to his heart's content. But without his mother there, it meant that his father had to take off work, or find someone to babysit to him. And either way, there were no soothing cuddles, no special home-cooked meals, no comforting lullabies after getting tucked into his parents' bed.<p>

No, he quickly discovered that being sick in a single-parent home meant that his father took a day off from work, checking up on him every ten minutes while he huddled in his own bed, but bringing him all the wrong things, like tomato soup instead of chicken and dumplings or blue Gatorade instead of yellow. Or the babysitter would be there, sitting around in the living room watching TV and answering his weak calls for a drink of water or another box of tissues.

Eventually he stopped worrying his dad about it. It didn't do any good for anyone. He learned how to pass his fever-flushed complexion as a makeup experiment gone wrong, or a bad cold as a mild seasonal allergy. And he learned how to throw up without anyone hearing. It took some doing, but after a while he perfected his technique.

So when he started feeling sick to his stomach at school, he wasn't too bothered. It was probably some kind of twenty-four-hour virus or something. A night hiding in the bathroom, and he would be fine.

But he forgot about Finn and Carole coming over.

"Kurt, come set the table," Burt called.

He sat up a little too fast and winced, pressing his hand to his stomach. "Uh…give me a second," he said. He closed his eyes as the room spun a little bit. "What…what're we having for dinner?"

His father's heavy footsteps echoed on the stairs leading to the basement. "Carole's here, remember?" Burt said, leaning on the railing at the landing. "She made dinner. C'mon up, she and Finn are waiting."

"Jut give me a second," Kurt repeated, sliding carefully off the edge of his bed and moving his math homework out of the way.

Burt eyed him skeptically. "You're, uh…you're still wearing the flannel?" he said.

Kurt glanced down at his button-up plaid shirt and baggy jeans. "Uh-huh," he said.

"Well…" Burt said, clearly at a loss. He cleared his throat. "At least take off the trucker hat at the table, okay?"

Kurt peeled it of and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Sure," he said.

His dad headed up the stairs, and after a deep breath, Kurt followed him. His stomach still felt upset, but it was okay. He'd thrown up right after he got home from school, which meant he'd be all right for a while.

He shut the door behind him and headed into the kitchen. Finn was sitting at what had always been Kurt's spot for as long as he could remember, and Carole was using his mother's beautiful blue platter, the one she always used for desserts and Christmas cookies, to serve slabs of chicken-fried steak onto every plate. There was a small bowl of white gravy and a large bowl of mashed potatoes and an even bigger bowl of green beans, and Kurt's stomach suddenly turned over.

"Hi, sweetie," Carole said cheerfully. "Come sit down."

He obeyed slowly, sitting down at the opposite end of the table from his father, and eyed his plateful of food warily. Even just the smell of it was making the bile rise in the back of throat, and the generous serving of southern-style green beans was practically mocking him. His dad knew that he hated green beans, but then again his dad was busy talking to Finn about football or baseball or something that ended in ball.

"Go ahead and eat," Carole said, settling down on his father's other side. "Do you need anything else?"

"No, no, I'm…fine," Kurt said, careful to keep his voice lower, more like Finn's. "This looks…um…great."

He took a tentative bite of the chicken-fried steak. All he could taste was thick breading and garlic and the heavy slickness of frying oil. It slid down his already-sore throat and hit his stomach hard.

He stood up sharply, his chair scraping against the linoleum floor. The cheerful conversation halted and everyone turned to stare. "I forgot," he blurted out. "I have…a paper…due tomorrow." He tried to smile. "Just totally forgot, you know how it is." He coughed slightly into his hand. "Can I…eat in my room?"

"Kiddo, you can stay and eat at the table," Burt said, frowning. "Carole worked hard to make this."

"No, it's all right," Carole said. She placed a hand gently on Burt's and patted it. "If he has homework, it's all right."

Finn didn't say anything, just shoveled more potatoes into his mouth and chewed with his lips gaping. Kurt snatched up his plate and his glass and fled to the basement.

He dropped the plate on his desk, nearly knocking it over in his haste, and ran into the bathroom. Thankfully he made it in time, but he nearly lost his balance and hit his head on the back of the tank.

"Ow, ow, ow," he mumbled, and he heaved silently for the second time.

He huddled there for a while until he was sure that his stomach had settled for good, and finally dragged himself off the cool tile floor. His plate was still sitting on his desk, the meat cooling and the gravy congealing, and he dumped it quickly in the toilet before it could kickstart his gag reflex again.

He settled down on his bed and closed for his eyes for a little bit. At least, he meant for just a little bit, but the next time he opened his eyes, his room was completely dark and his sweaty shirt was plastered to his chest.

He pushed himself off his bed with a groan, his whole body aching, and limped over to get his dishes. It was slow going, but he dragged himself up the stairs.

The table had been cleared of dishes, but the kitchen was still cluttered. He dropped his empty plate by the sink and peeked into the living room. His heart sank a little. Finn and his dad were sitting together on the couch, intent on a football game, and Carole sat in the armchair beside Burt, working on a crossword puzzle and chatting with them about plays.

Kurt hid in the doorway, watching them. They looked like such a happy family.

"Hey, bud," Burt said. "Finish your paper?"

"Um, yeah, I did," Kurt said, tugging at the suddenly too-tight collar of his shirt. "Um…do you want me to do the dishes?"

"Oh, you don't have to do that-" Carole started to say, but Burt interrupted.

"Thanks, kiddo," he said, already turning back to the TV. "And could you grab me a beer from the fridge?" He turned to Finn. "You want anything?"

"Um, yeah, a Coke, I guess," Finn said. He offered a smile. "Thanks, Kurt."

Kurt got their drinks without a word and disappeared into the kitchen, scrubbing viciously at the dishes. He had to find a way to make himself indispensable to his dad. He didn't so much mind about Carole- it was actually kind of nice to see her around the house- but there was no way he could possibly compare to Finn. Not like his usual self.

He was so busy brainstorming, his gloved hands plunged deep in the hot soapy water, that he didn't notice his father come in. "You're still cleaning?" Burt said, tossing his beer bottle and Finn's empty Coke in the recycling bin.

"I'm almost done," Kurt said quickly.

"It's okay, as long as you head to bed pretty soon," Burt said. "You got plans for tomorrow?"

"No," Kurt said, his heart skipping a beat. "Do you…want me to do something?"

"Yeah, I'm taking Finn to a baseball game, so I was hoping you could check in at the garage when you get out of school tomorrow," Burt said. "Just lend a hand if they're running behind. And you'll probably be on your own for dinner tomorrow, but there's plenty of leftovers. That going to be okay with you?"

"Uh-huh," Kurt whispered, looking down at the greasy water pooling over his hands. "That's fine."

Burt squeezed his shoulder. "'Night, kiddo," he said, patting his back.

Kurt spent another thirty minutes washing the dishes and sweeping the floor, and when he finally finished and went downstairs to bed, he threw up again.

The next day dragged on and on and on. He managed to get through most of the day without raising any concerns- he was able to keep himself from throwing up except for lunchtime, and of course Brittany had to follow him into the bathroom and rattle on outside the stall while he tried to stay as silent as possible. And luckily they didn't need too much help from him at the garage, so after helping with an oil change and tire rotation, he went home and laid down on the couch to study and wait for his dad to come home.

He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep until the front door banged open and his science book slid off his knees and onto the floor in a flutter of glossy paper. "Hey, Kurt," his dad called.

Kurt rubbed his eyes blearily and took a deep breath in an attempt to quiet his restless stomach. "Hi, Dad," he said.

Burt walked into the living room and hung up his coat. "How was your day, bud?" he asked.

"It was all right, I guess," Kurt said, trying to smile. "How was the game?"

"Not at all that great, but Finn seemed to have a good time," Burt shrugged. He sank down in the armchair across from Kurt. "Carole's invited us over for dinner tomorrow night. You want to go?"

Kurt bit his thumbnail. The idea of going over to the Hudsons' house made his stomach hurt. Who knew how long they'd have to stay there, and what he'd be able to do without being in the safety of his own house, or what Carole would serve for dinner. "Why don't they come here, and I'll make dinner?" he offered. "It'll make things easier. And I can make your favorite, if you want."

"That'd be great, kiddo," Burt said, pleased. "That'd be great. Need me to pick anything up at the store for you?"

"No, no, I can do it," Kurt said quickly. "Don't want to give you anything else to worry about, you know."

"I'll let you handle it, then," Burt said, getting up from the chair. He patted Kurt's shoulder. "Night, bud."

"Goodnight, Dad," Kurt echoed. He waited for his dad's heavy footsteps to fade away on the stairs before bolting to his basement, leaving his homework behind, scattered across the living room.

_This is not just a twenty-four-bug, _he thought wearily as he leaned over the toilet. But he didn't want his dad to worry about him, or resent him for drawing too much attention on himself. Besides, now that he'd promised to make dinner, he'd have to do it.

He really regretted it the next morning when he could barely pull himself out of bed. It was bad enough that he nearly called himself out of school. But he made himself go, dragging himself to school and dozing off in his classes while he tried to keep his upset stomach from a full-out revolt. At least his loose jeans and long sleeved thermal tee were more comfortable than if he was still trying to wear his fancy clothes, and everyone was so weirded out by his recent personality shift that they kept a wide berth and didn't ask if anything was wrong. Except for Brittany, who still thought they were dating.

He bought his groceries half-heartedly at the Kroger near his house and started dinner as soon as he got home. He was already trying to formulate an excuse for not eating (a big lunch earlier? Saving room for dessert? He couldn't use the paper excuse again…) while he assembled the pot roast. His whole body ached, but he promised. He couldn't disappoint them.

"Hi, sweetie."

Kurt jumped, dropping his knife on the cutting board. "Oh!" he said stupidly. "Oh, hi, Carole."

"I didn't mean to scare you," she said, smiling as she placed a large pie pan on the kitchen counter. "It's so sweet of you to make dinner for all of us. And I hope you don't mind, but I brought some dessert."

"Oh, that's…that's fine," he said, his smile turning a little taut. Now he couldn't use the "saving room for dessert" excuse. "It looks…"

His smile faded as she lifted the lid off the pie. Banana cream. His least favorite. He could smell the thick, overly sweet scent from halfway across the kitchen.

"Kurt?" Carole said. "Are you all right? You don't look very-"

He closed his eyes.

Slowly he became aware of things again- a faint disorienting buzz in his ears, the cool pressure of the linoleum floor against his back, a soft hand stroking his cheek. He hummed a tiny sigh of contentment, leaning towards the fingertips brushing against his skin. "M…mom?" he sighed. "Mom?"

The gentle touch paused for a moment. "No, honey, it's Carole."

Kurt forced his eyes to open. He was lying on the kitchen floor, staring up at the ceiling. Carole knelt beside him. "Oh my god," he mumbled. He tried to push himself up. "Oh, god, I'm sorry, I just-"

"Hey, hey, don't get up," Carole said. "You hit your head really hard. Does it hurt?"

"Yeah," Kurt murmured, reaching back to probe at the sore spot at the back of his head. "Yeah, I…ow."

"I think you're running a fever," Carole said, caressing her thumb gently along his temple. "Are you not feeling well?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled. "I'm okay."

Carole smoothed his hair back and he closed his eyes at the rare comforting pressure. "Kurt, have you been sick lately?" she asked.

"Hm?" Kurt said, dazed. "Hm…oh, yeah…"

"What kind of sick?" Carole asked, still scratching gently at his scalp. "Have you been throwing up?"

"Just sometimes," Kurt mumbled without thinking. His eyes flew open. "I mean-" He took a deep breath. "Carole, really, I'm fine. Here, just let me get up and I'll finish making dinner…"

"No, you're going right to bed," Carole said. "You're sick and I-" The front door opened and she sat up. "Burt? Burt can you come in the kitchen, please?"

"No, please, don't tell my dad," Kurt groaned, trying to cover his face. He would have sat up, but Carole kept a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Carole, what's…" Burt's voice trailed off. "Kurt? What's wrong, kiddo? Are you all right?"

"He's sick," Carole said.

"No, no, I'm not," Kurt said, pushing away Carole's hand and struggling up. "I'm fine, I just need to finish making dinner and-"

He managed to wobble up to his knees before the room spun too strongly and he collapsed forward. But he didn't fall- instead, he sank against the warm, comforting bulk of his father's chest. "God, kiddo, you're burning up," Burt said, pressing his hand against Kurt's forehead.

"It's okay, I'm actually kind of cold," Kurt mumbled.

Burt's hand moved from his forehead to his cheek to the back of his neck. "You're shaking," he said. "Oh my god, Kurt…how long have you been sick?"

"'m nor sick," Kurt said. "I just don't feel good, okay? I just don't-" His stomach ached and he clapped a hand over his mouth.

"You going to throw up?" Burt asked, but before he could finish the question, Kurt leaned over and started heaving.

Everything roared in his ears; he was aware of very little beyond the sudden pain except for his dad's arms tight around him and Carole's gentle hand on his hair.

He sagged back, wiping at his mouth with the back of his shaking hand. "It's all right," Carole soothed. "Burt, you need to get him to bed."

"But I need to finish dinner," he protested. It was weak in his own ears, and before he could argue further, his father stood up, gathering him into his arms.

"You're not gonna do anything for a while," Burt said. "Stop fighting and lie still."

Kurt obediently dropped his cheek to his father's shoulder and closed his eyes to brace himself from the sudden wave of dizziness. His hand tangled slowly in the collar of his dad's jacket.

"Dad?" he ventured. "Why're we going upstairs?"

"Because I'm gonna keep my eye on you," Burt said, slightly gruff. He carried him into the upstairs bedroom and set him down carefully, then sat down beside him and started unlacing Kurt's shoes. "So how long have you been sick?"

"Not long, just…" Kurt stopped and bit his lip. "Well, a few days."

Burt swore softly under his breath. "You can't keep doing this, kiddo," he said, setting Kurt's shoes down on the floor beside the bed. "You can't keep telling me that you've got allergies, or you're just tired…I'm your dad. You're supposed to trust me with stuff like this."

"I know, but I just…it's not as easy as that, Dad," Kurt said. He pressed his hands against the sides of his nose. "I'm sorry. It's just…"

"Hey, don't get upset," Burt soothed. He tugged Kurt's hands away and clasped them in his. "We'll talk about this when you feel better, okay?"

Kurt nodded miserably. Burt helped him out of his vest and jeans, leaving him in his long-sleeve tee and boxers, and tucked the blankets around him. "I'll get the thermometer," he said, squeezing his shin gently.

Kurt burrowed into his nest of quilts, shivering. Now that the truth was out in the open, he could finally acknowledge how awful he felt- his upset stomach, the hot and cold fever chills, his pounding headache.

The bed sank down beside him. "Okay, bud, hold still," Burt said, setting the thermometer carefully in Kurt's ear. He leaned a little towards his father, exhaling slowly. It beeped, and Burt set it down on the nightstand. "You're at 103.4. For god's sake, kiddo, why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

"You were busy," Kurt said in a small voice, shutting his eyes tightly. "You were busy with Finn and Carole and…I didn't want to get in the way."

To his surprise, he felt his father kiss him on the cheek, rough and clumsy and affectionate. "You're never in the way," Burt said, his voice sounding thick. "Never, kiddo." He kissed him again, this time on the temple like he used to do when he would check on Kurt in the middle of the night. "I've…well, I haven't been paying a lot of attention to you lately, have I?"

"It's okay," Kurt murmured, rubbing his cheek against his dad's knee. Burt didn't say anything, but Kurt heard him sigh deeply, and he started tangling his rough fingers clumsily through his hair.

Carole knocked lightly on the door and peeked in. "Did you take his temperature?" she asked.

"He's got a pretty good fever," Burt said.

Carole touched Kurt's cheek. "Poor baby," she said sympathetically. She placed a cool wet washcloth on his forehead. "Does that help at all?"

"Uh-huh," he said, still nestling close to his father's knee as he stroked his hair. It was soothing, and he was starting to feel sleepy.

Carole squeezed his arm. "Now, what did your mama do for you when you were sick?" she asked.

Kurt kept his eyes closed. "She'd let me sleep in here, or on the couch," he murmured hazily. "She'd get me yellow Gatorade, or ginger ale, and when I stopped feeling so sick she'd make me chicken and dumplings, and she'd make Daddy get me ice cream, and…yeah…stuff like that."

"I think your dad and I can manage that," Carole said. "You rest, okay? I'll run out to Kroger. I'll be back in just a little bit."

She adjusted the washcloth a little bit on his forehead and left the room with a light little pat to his chest. Burt cleared his throat. "I'm, uh…I'm not really good at this dad thing, am I?" he said.

"No, no, you're fine," Kurt mumbled.

"I've never done anything like that for you. Nobody has, not since Mollie…"

His voice trailed off. Kurt patted his dad's knee lightly in an attempt to reassure him, but Burt lifted him onto his lap instead, the way he used to when Kurt was very small. At first he stiffened, unsure of what to do, but his father cuddled him close, and Kurt rested against him and fell into a deep sleep for the first time in a week, reassured by the beat of his father's heart.

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

****Ugh, okay, wow, feels...

The Laryngitis episode is one of my favorites- it's sad and funny and feel-y and it made me just fall in love with Kurt even more. He's so vulnerable in that episode, and it breaks my heart into itty bitty pieces every single time.

Plus, this ties back to the whole thing about Kurt being a stealth puker. Poor kid.

But yeah...feels. Feels everywhere.


	253. Laryngitis Part II

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Hey, I'm back," Finn called, nudging the front door to the Hummels' house open with his shoulder. "Did I miss dinner?"<p>

He walked into the living room, dumping his football bag on the floor beside Kurt's backpack, and frowned. The house didn't smell like food.

He scratched the back of his neck, ruffling his hair still damp from his post-practice shower. "Hello?" he called, wandering into the kitchen. His frown deepened. It looked like someone had started dinner, but halted in the middle of it.

He headed up the stairs. This was weird. Everyone had to be there- at least, he was pretty sure they were all there. His mom had reminded him half a dozen times that they were having dinner at the Hummels house.

There was a light shining in the half-cracked bedroom door at the end of the hall. "Hey, where are you guys?" he called. "What's going…"

He paused. Kurt was asleep in the middle of the big bed, shivering under the heavy quilt, his head resting on his father's knees and his cheek pillowed on his folded hands like a child. Burt was stroking his hair gently. "What's wrong with Kurt?" he whispered.

"He's sick," Burt said, still smoothing his son's hair. "Your mom ran out to get a couple of things for him." Kurt shifted a little, murmuring in his sleep, and Burt shushed him lightly until he calmed down again. "You notice anything off about him this week?"

"Yeah, he's been trying to act all…I don't know, butch or something," Finn said. He looked down at Kurt. He looked so small curled up like that on his dad's lap. "Was he acting like that because he was sick?"

Burt sighed heavily. "I don't know," he said, toying with the faintly curling ends of Kurt's unstyled hair. "Who knows what going on in my kid's head?"

Finn shifted his weight anxiously. "Do you, uh…do you want me go, or help, or…"

"Burt, I'm back," he heard his mother call from downstairs.

"I'll go see if she needs a hand," Finn said quickly, and he jogged down the stairs. "Mom? Hey, Mom."

"Hi, sweetheart," Carole said. "Mind taking some of these bags for me?"

He grabbed two plastic Kroger bags and lugged them over to the kitchen counter. His mother followed with a brown paper sack that she set down carefully on the table. "What's all this stuff for?" he asked.

"Kurt's sick," she said, lifting a two-liter of ginger ale and a bottle of Gatorade out of a plastic bag. "Put these in the fridge for me, please."

He obeyed. "Is he going to be okay?" he asked.

"He's got the flu. He'll pull through, but he feels awful," Carole said. "He's been sick all week, and hiding it."

"But he offered to make dinner for us," Finn said, perplexed.

Carole sighed. "Finn, sweetie…" she started to say. She stopped, tapping her fingers lightly on the kitchen counter in thought. "Honey, I know that you're really excited about spending time with Burt, and I'm really glad things have been going as well as they have, but…I think we need to be a little more sensitive towards Kurt."

"Why?" Finn asked.

Carole carefully opened the brown paper bag and lifted out a takeout container. "He's scared of losing his dad to us," she said softly. "I think that's why he's been acting so different. He's trying to be…more like you."

The first stab of guilt struck the pit of Finn's stomach. "I'm not…I'm not trying to take his dad away, though," he said.

"Yes, but think about it," Carole said, leaning on her elbows. "Just yesterday, Burt took you to a baseball game. He didn't even invite Kurt. And before that, he was the one who drove you to Dayton for your basketball playoffs, while Kurt stayed home."

Finn looked down at his shoes. "Is it bad that I didn't even think about him?" he mumbled.

"No, because I'm at fault too," she said. "He's been getting pushed to the side, and none of us have even noticed." She took down a glass and filled with ice, then poured ginger ale and added a straw. "Here, take this up and see if Burt can get him to drink a little bit. It'll help settle his stomach a little."

Finn took the glass warily. "He's not going to puke on me, is he?" he asked.

"If he does, think of it as revenge for when you threw up on me when we were flying back from visiting Grandma and Grandpa," she said.

"C'mon, Mom, I was five," Finn complained, but the took the glass anyway and headed back up the stairs. He could hear soft voices the closer he got to the bedroom, and he paused to eavesdrop.

"You're okay, Kurt, you just fell asleep for a little," he heard Burt say. "Sh, it's okay. Don't get up."

He could barely hear Kurt's mumbled reply. "Want me to go finish dinner?"

"No," Burt said flatly. "No way. You're going to stay in bed till you're better. I don't think you could stand up straight right now, much less do anything."

Finn peeked a little around the corner. Kurt seemed barely awake, his blue eyes hazy, and was leaning heavily against his father's chest. He was really pale, paler than usual except for the high color on his cheeks, and Burt seemed pretty anxious. "'m sorry," Kurt mumbled.

"No, kid, you're not sorry about anything," Burt said. "I just wish you'd tell me you were sick. I could've taken care of you."

"But you're busy," Kurt murmured. "You've got work, and Finn, and Carole, and-"

"You're my _kid,_" Burt said, and Finn nearly flinched. He could hear how upset he was, and it hurt a little just to listen. "I've always got time for you."

"But you'd have to take time off from work and everything," Kurt argued, struggling to sit up. "And you're dating Carole now. And besides, Dad, even if you did take off time, it's not the same as Mom…if Mom…"

Finn couldn't look away. He could see Kurt's face crumpling a little, like he was about to cry. Burt just hugged him closer, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He didn't say anything, but Kurt leaned into him as if he was exhausted, closing his eyes as Burt rubbed the back of his neck.

The ice cubes shifted in the glass and Finn jumped. He cleared his throat loudly. "Uh, my mom told me to bring this up," he said, holding out the glass of ginger ale.

Kurt tried to sit up, wiping at his cheeks, and Burt lifted him up. "Thanks, Finn," he said, taking the glass and holding it steady for Kurt. "Here, kiddo, take a little sip." Kurt obeyed and Burt cupped his hand over his forehead. "Dammit, you feel warmer. Finn, can you hand me the thermometer?"

Finn handed it over and Burt set it carefully in his ear. Kurt took another cautious sip of ginger ale. "Thanks, sweetheart," Carole said, patting his arm as she squeezed past him into the room. "How's his temperature?"

"It went up a little," Burt said, tossing the thermometer aside. "Dammit. I'm sorry, buddy."

Carole set down the mug and spoon she was carrying and touched the back of her hand to Kurt's flushed cheek. "He'll be all right," she said. "Kurt, honey, how does your stomach feel? A little calmer?"

"I think," Kurt murmured. "At least I don't feel like throwing up right now."

"Good," Carole said, stroking her thumb along his cheek. "I'll give you something to help bring your fever down, and then…do you think you could try to eat a little something?"

"Maybe," he said, leaning into her gentle touch.

She picked up the mug from the dresser and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I stopped by that diner down the street and got you some chicken and dumplings from there," she said.

Burt grinned. "Hey, you like that place," he said, squeezing Kurt's upper arm. "His mom worked there when she was a teenager. We used to go all the time."

Finn hung back a little, the guilt spiking a little stronger now. He had never gone through this, ever. If he'd gotten sick as a child, he never even dreamed of hiding it from his mother. He just always assumed that sick meant staying home, dozing off and playing video games while his mother brought him medicine and ice cream and fussed over him, even if he didn't want it. And he'd never gotten sick like Kurt, so weak that he could barely raise his head.

Finn cleared his throat. "I can…I can take care of dinner, I guess," he said. "I mean…not cook, I can order pizza or something. You guys stay with Kurt."

"That would be great, Finn, thanks," Carole said.

Burt didn't say anything. He just kept stroking Kurt's hair as he fed himself shakily, one arm still snug and reassuring around his waist, his expression thoughtful. Finn let himself out of the room quietly, the pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach subsiding a little as he left his mother to help take care of Kurt.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****OH FEELS.

This is a followup from the Laryngitis chapter. I always wondered if Finn ever realized how hurt Kurt was over Burt favoring him- and if he did, how he felt about it. I just like seeing Finn thinking about things. He's a lot smarter than the writers give him credit for, and I think that if he knew how upset Kurt was, he would have tried to make it up to him in his own awkward way.

And now Kurt will feel better, and Burt will pay him all sorts of attention, and Carole will make all his favorite foods and everything, and Finn will hover anxiously like a big brotherly shadow, and they will be a happy family the end.


	254. Coddling

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Kurt Hummel," Mollie said, crossing her arms and blocking the doorway. "You're not going anywhere."<p>

"I'm fine," Kurt rasped, pulling his scarf higher above his mouth and ears. "Just…you know. Slept with my mouth open last night. Kind of dehydrated. I'll be fine."

He tried to sidestep his mother but she blocked him easily. "You're lying to me, child," she said, arching her eyebrow. "I heard you coughing last night."

"It wasn't anything," Kurt protested, sliding his hands deeper in the pockets of his coat. "Just a…um…"

Mollie yanked his scarf down. "You're lying," she accused. "Look at you. Chapped lips, watery eyes, running nose, and it looks like somebody ran sandpaper all over your face."

"Gee, thanks, Mom," Kurt said, rolling his eyes. He pulled his scarf back up around his mouth. "I'm fine. I took a Dayquil, I've got a bottle of orange juice in my bag, and I've got enough tissues to…to…"

He dropped his scarf in just enough time to sneeze into his cupped hands. "You're so sick you almost sneezed right into your favorite McQueen," Mollie said. She stroked Kurt's hair away from his forehead. "And you're running a fever. You're not going anywhere, sweetheart."

"But…I can't miss the choral festival," Kurt whined as his mother unwound his scarf and unfastened his coat. "Blaine and I promised the Warblers we would go, and we're going out to dinner with Lucy afterwards, and we were talking about playing minigolf at the glow-in-the-dark place at the mall with Francey, and she's always hilarious because she's awful at minigolf and starts swearing all the time…"

"As you've probably noticed, I don't care how much fun you were going to have," Mollie said, draping his coat and scarf over the back of the armchair. She folded her arms. "Go change into your pajamas."

"But I look so nice!" Kurt protested.

She turned him towards his basement steps and patted his bottom lightly. "You always look nice, KK," she said. "But right now, you just look sick. Go on, sweetheart."

"Why'd you always have to boss me around?" he grumbled under his breath as he stomped down the stairs. "I'm fine. I can manage just fine. It's just a cold. I'm fine."

He changed out of the outfit he'd picked out so carefully, setting his new Jeffrey Campbells aside with some longing, and reached for his favorite pair of yoga pants and a soft tee shirt. "Mom's just paranoid," he muttered, stomping back up the stairs. "I'll show her. I'm fine. I'll rest, and then I'll go for the last half of the concert, and-"

He paused at the top of the stairs and sneezed three times in succession.

"Oh, so you're not sick, not at all," Mollie grinned.

Kurt sighed. "Not really," he said. He flopped down on the couch and crossed one leg over the other. "I'm just going to lounge around for a little to satisfy your motherly concern, and then I'm going out with my friends."

Mollie tilted her head to the side. "But in the meantime…I can fuss over you, can't I?" she said.

Kurt leaned his head back on the arm of the couch. "To your heart's content," he said.

She cupped his cheeks in her hands and kissed his forehead. "Then you stay here, and I'll be right back," she said, handing him the remote and draping the soft fleece blanket from the back of the couch over his knees.

Kurt allowed his mother to fuss over him, accepting the straw-bedecked Mason jar full of ginger ale and box of lotion-laced tissues. He frowned, leaning around to get a better look at the TV as she placed the thermometer in his ear.

"Mm-hm," she said, looking at the readout. "I totally called it."

"What? Why?" he asked, sipping his ginger ale.

"Nothing," she said. She tucked his hair back behind his ear. "Tell you what, sweetheart. I'll make you a deal. I'll come back in two hours, and if you still want to go, you can go. But for right now, you'll rest. Agreed?"

"Agreed," he said, smiling smugly. "I'm fine. You'll see."

Of course, seventeen years of being raised by Mollie Melrose "I-Know-Everything" Hummel should have taught him a few things.

True to her word, Mollie left him alone for exactly two hours before coming back to check on him. "So, sweetheart," she said. "Ready to drive to Westerville?"

Kurt sighed heavily, his nose whistling a little. "I don't know," he hedged. "I might…I might give it another hour, and then see…"

"No, no, it doesn't work that way," Mollie grinned. "If you don't leave now, you won't get there in time." She sat down beside him and stroked his hair. "You feel warmer than you did earlier."

"What was my temperature the first time you took it?" Kurt asked.

"100.2," she said. "Not too high, but still a fever." She leaned over and kissed him. "So what's the plan? Letting me win and staying home, or trying to act like a big bad tough guy and going anyway?"

"I'll stay home," he said meekly.

Mollie tucked his blanket around his shoulder and gave him a kiss. "How long will it take you to learn, honey? Mama always wins," she grinned. "Now take a nap."

"But I took a Dayquil," he protested.

"But you're sleepy anyways," Mollie countered, tapping the tip of his nose. "Now sleep. Obey your mama."

"You're just bossy," Kurt mumbled, pulling the blanket up to his chin and rolling over onto his side.

But despite his best efforts, he fell asleep, fast and heavy. He woke up with a rough tickle in the back of his throat, the back of his neck hot and damp, and a dribble of drool on his chin. Clumsily he wiped it away with the back of his hand, smacking his mouth a little.

"Ugh, Blaine, your boyfriend's so gross."

"Don't make fun of him, he's sick! And sh, you're going to wake him up!"

"'mwake," Kurt mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. He blinked. "Blaine?"

"Hi, sweetheart, how're you feeling?" Blaine asked, smiling as he stroked Kurt's cheek. "You're still warm. Francey, does he seem warm to you?"

Francey leaned over and pulled the television remote from Kurt's slack hand. "He's the color of a lobster," she said. "Yeah, in my astute medical opinion, he's pretty damn sick."

"Don't be a douche," Blaine said, rolling his eyes. "My boyfriend doesn't feel good."

"I'm not a douche. You're a douchecanoe."

"You're a douchekebab."

"You're a fucktwit twatwaffle."

Kurt burst out laughing. "That's hilarious!" he said, grabbing drowsily at Blaine's sleeve. "That's…that's hilarious. Twatwaffle. Twatwaffle. Heh."

"Someone's high on cold medicine," Francey remarked.

"Twatwaffle," Kurt snickered.

"He didn't even remember waking up and asking for cough syrup," Mollie said, leaning through the kitchen pass-through. "Oh, but he did. He was coughing so hard I thought he was going to throw up, poor thing."

"Yeah, he throws up an awful lot," Francey commented.

"He has a sensitive tummy," Mollie defended.

Lucy popped her head through the window. "Speaking of which, are you hungry at all?" she asked.

"Starving," Francey said.

Blaine tossed a throw pillow at her. "She meant Kurt," he said.

"I'm kind of hungry, I think," Kurt said, nibbling at the edge of his thumbnail. "I think. I don't know." He dropped his head on Blaine's shoulder. "My throat hurts."

"I know, sweetheart," Blaine cooed, kissing the top of his head. "Lucy and your mom made chicken and dumplings, your favorite. Do you think you could eat a little?"

"Yeah, a little, I guess," Kurt said, nuzzling Blaine's neck. "I want ice cream, though. I usually get ice cream when I have a sore throat."

"Yes, but you need to have some real food in your stomach before we break out the ice cream, KK," Mollie said.

Lucy carried a mug full of chicken and dumplings out of the kitchen and handed it to Blaine. "Here, you feed him," she said. She dropped a kiss on the top of Kurt's head. "Mwah. Poor thing."

"Oh, geeze, like it's not enough that we canceled all of our plans to come babysit Ducky," Francey said, rolling her eyes. "Now we have to treat him like a spoiled little prince too."

"I am a spoiled prince," Kurt said, pouting.

"Only when you're listening to your friends and not your mother," Mollie sighed. "When I try to fuss over him, he complains that he's not sick. When y'all come over, he acts like he's about to die and needs to be waited on hand and foot."

Kurt batted his lashes at her. "I love you, Mommy," he said sweetly.

"Yeah, sure, of course you do," Mollie laughed, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Just a little adorableness to contrast with the angst of the last two chapters. :)


	255. Blaine Faces the Music

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Blaine had been dreading this moment ever since he came back from New York.<p>

"So," Burt Hummel said, sizing him up. "How've you been, Blaine?"

He looked down at his shoes. "Um, fine, Mr. Hummel, how're you?" he mumbled.

"What, not going to call me Burt anymore?"

Blaine held on tightly to the strap of his messenger bag. "Look, Mr. Hummel…I'm pretty sure you know what happened," he said, still not daring to look up.

"I know that my son called me from New York in tears," Burt said quietly. "I know that he didn't see this coming. I know that you broke my kid's heart."

"I know," Blaine whispered.

Burt sighed heavily. "Look, Blaine," he said, shifting his weight. "You're still a kid. Kurt is too. And when you're young and stupid, mistakes happen. I hope you've realized that you've made a pretty huge one."

Blaine winced. "I know," he said. "I…I made a really stupid decision, and I probably ruined everything, and I…"

He covered his mouth with his hand. Burt reached over and gripped his shoulder. "Mr. Hummel, I did ruin everything," he said. "I was so stupid. So incredibly stupid. And…I mean, just a few months ago, I flipped out because he was texting another boy. Just texting. And I…I sent him on a huge guilt trip, and sang that song in front of the entire glee club, and…he still listened, and wanted to hear my side, and…god. I cheated on him. I slept with another guy, and now-"

"Okay, okay, I don't need to hear every detail," Burt said. "Geeze, haven't you talked to anyone about this, or have you just been bottling it up and waiting for the first person to come along and ask?"

Blaine shrugged. "I've talked to my sister on the phone, but…it's not the same," he mumbled, swiping surreptitiously at his eyes.

Burt squeezed his shoulder. "Blaine, you messed up, and you messed up good," he said. "You've hurt Kurt, really deeply. Probably even more deeply than you realize.. My kid…he doesn't do trusting other people. He just doesn't." Blaine exhaled slowly and nodded. "You've got to give him space. Give him time for the sting to go down. Just don't do anything reckless, not if you want things to be okay with him."

"I don't know if things will ever be okay," Blaine said softly.

"You don't know about that," Burt said. "He still loves you, you know. Still thinks the sun shines out of your ass."

"You got that from a movie," Blaine mumbled.

"Yeah, but that doesn't make it any less true," Burt said. "And if things work out between you two…I don't think you'll ever do anything like this again, will you?"

Blaine shook his head. Burt clapped him on the shoulder one last time before walking away, and Blaine exhaled slowly, trying to imagine a world where Kurt loved him again.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****YES, BURT. GIVE BLAINE A SINCERE, SENSIBLE TALKING TO.

I feel like this had to have happened somewhere in there.

Also, can I just say that Kurt handled this better than Blaine did? I mean, texting with another guy and macking on another guy are both bad juju, but at least Kurt didn't publicly denounce Blaine with a sassy Whitney Houston song in front of all their mutual friends.


	256. Blaine Goes to Fabricland

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Blaine surveyed the Fabricland shelves with more than a little trepidation. This had seemed like such a good idea at the time, but that was when he was snooping on Kurt's Pinterest and writing down ideas for six-month-anniversary presents. Now he was just faced with aisle upon aisle of fabric, glitter, yarn, and artificial flowers.<p>

He tightened his grip on his already-wrinkled shopping list and approached a store employee. The young man was kneeling on the tile floor, stacking cutesy sewing kits in a neat, artful arrangement on the shelf. "Um, excuse me?" he said, tapping the young man shyly on the shoulder. "I'm trying to find something called…a cry-cut?"

The young man jumped. "Um…a what?" he stammered, his voice sounding oddly low.

Blaine consulted his list again. "A…cry-cut," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "At least, I think that's how it's pronounced…I might be wrong."

The young employee tugged his Fabricland visor lower. "Could you spell it?" he asked, his voice pitched a little lower than before.

"Um…" Blaine said. "Um…C-R-I-C-U-T."

"A Cricut?," the employee said.

"Oh, so you say it like the bug," Blaine said sheepishly. "See, I don't really know a lot about crafting things. My boyfriend does, though, and our anniversary's coming up- well, it's only a six month anniversary, but that still counts, right? And, well, I couldn't decide what I wanted to get him, but according to his Pinterest account a lot of the things he's interested in making involve this, and I know it's kind of ridiculous to get your significant other a some kind of crafting device…thing…but, I just…I'm really in love with him, you know?"

He sighed deeply. "Sorry, I'm just boring you, aren't I?" he said. "Sorry. If you could just tell me where I could find the Cricket thing…"

"Over there, aisle three," the young employee said, the back of his neck turning bright red.

A manager walked by, pushing a dolly loaded with shipping boxes, and frowned. "Kurt, aren't you going to show the customer where to go?" he said. "It's Fabricland policy to go the extra mile for excellent customer service."

The young employee leaned his folded arms on his artistically stacked sewing baskets and started thumping his forehead on them. Blaine swallowed hard. "Kurt?" he ventured.

"If I told you I was Kurt's evil twin Carson, would you believe me?"

"Not…not really," Blaine stammered.

Kurt twisted around until he was sitting cross-legged on the floor, his cheeks flushed an embarrassed bright red. "Surprise," he said lamely. "I…I have a part time job."

Blaine sat down on the floor across from him. "Why are you so embarrassed?" he asked, smoothing the collar of Kurt's white polo shirt.

"I'm wearing the ugliest apron imaginable, I can't style my hair properly because I'm wearing a stupid visor like a middle-aged tourist at Disney World, and every time I say goodbye to a customer on the phone, I have to say 'thanks for calling Fabricland, have a crafty day!'" Kurt sighed. He rested his chin on his hand. "I'm ridiculous."

"No, you're clever," Blaine said, leaning forward on his elbows. "You got a part-time job. What's wrong with that?"

"I work at a crafting store," Kurt said. "My coworkers are all either cosplay enthusiasts who talk about things I can't understand, or women over sixty who like to tell me all about their embroidery projects and pinch my cheeks while they tell me they're going to bake me some rugelach so I'll fatten up a bit."

"Everybody loves you," Blaine said, cupping Kurt's chin in his hand. "Including me. Even though you're wearing a white polyester polo shirt and a misspelled nametag decorated with smiley face buttons."

"And a visor?" Kurt said.

"And a visor," Blaine reassured him, leaning in to rub their noses together lightly. Kurt smiled, and Blaine captured his lips in a soft sweet kiss as they sat on the floor in the middle of the sewing notions aisle.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****BAHAHAHAHA.

Silly boy.


	257. Post Breakup Sleepwalking

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>There were five numbers posted on the bulletin board in the Hummel-Berry apartment:<p>

The number to their favorite Chinese place.

The number to their favorite pizza place.

The number for the Hudson-Hummel home.

The number for Berry house.

And Lucy Trevelyan's cell phone, which was underlined several times with a note in Kurt's handwriting that said "PLEASE CALL IF SLEEPWALKING."

Rachel had been startled by the addition, but it turned out to be necessary on their first night in the apartment, when she woke up to find her new roommate standing by the sink in his underwear with a glass pickle jar in his hand. Lucy woke up at two in the morning to Rachel screaming hysterically in her ear, and then had to coach her through getting Kurt to give up the pickles, brush his teeth (she knew he would hate to wake up to dill pickle breath), and get back in bed.

This happened periodically- at least once a week, Lucy would come back from classes at NYU to the apartment she shared with three roommates, watch crap TV while eating ice cream and pretending to study, and as soon as she fell asleep (or at least that's what it felt like) she would get a crazy shrieking Rachel call, hollering about how Kurt was being a zombie again.

Usually it wasn't too bad- she'd talk Rachel out of throwing cold water on his face (she tried that once, just once, and never again), coach her on how to get Kurt out of whatever predicament he gotten himself into, and stay on the line until Kurt was successfully asleep in his own bed again.

At first it was pretty bad, what with the stress of moving, being homesick, applying for the internship, starting work at Vogue…Kurt was just a little ball of nerves and anxiety. After a while he calmed down.

Then he and Blaine broke up.

Well, they weren't exactly broken up. They were sort of broken up. They were upset and not talking, at the very least. Kurt held up as well as he could, but when Rachel went back home to Lima to talk to Finn, she got a quiet phone call and a "could you come stay with me?"

She spent the whole week with him while Rachel was gone, helping him stay distracted and cheerful during the day and snuggling with him at night when he couldn't keep up the façade anymore and would lean his head against hers on the pillow, too tired to cry about it anymore.

When Rachel came back, she thought things were okay- the frantic phone calls got fewer and farther between. And then, when she had just finished getting ready for bed and crawled under her comforter, Rachel's obnoxious ringtone went off.

"Rachel, I was about to go to sleep," she moaned. "Is this-"

"Kurt's sleepwalking!" Rachel shrieked.

Lucy rubbed her face, dropping her cheek into her soft pillow. "I know, he does that, just tell me what he's doing now and-"

"No, no, he's sleepwalking, and he just keeps walking around moving things, like he's looking for something, and…Lucy, I'm a _horrible _roommate, I knew he's been sleepwalking and he hasn't been eating right or resting enough and he's been working too much, but I've been letting him go, and…he's been sitting out on the fire escape for an hour and-"

"Rachel, it's raining," Lucy said, bolting upright. "Get him inside."

"I can't, I've tried everything, and he won't wake up and he won't listen, and I'm scared that he's going to-"

"Hang on, I'm coming over," she said, already reaching for her boots and her coat. "It'll take me about twenty minutes, I think. Make sure he doesn't do anything reckless, okay?"

"I'll try," Rachel said.

Thankfully she got to the station right as the train got there, and she got to the apartment in Bushwick in fifteen minutes, even with the rain. She ran up to their sixth-floor walkup and banged on the door until Rachel yanked it open, still dressed in her pajamas but with rainboots and an umbrella.

"He's okay," Rachel said. "He won't wake up and he won't move, but I've been sitting with him out there since I called you and I think he's okay."

Lucy dropped her bag by the door and walked to the open window. Kurt was huddled on the iron grate, shivering in the early winter rain. "Kurt?" she said, crawling through and squinting in the wet darkness. "Kurt, honey?"

"Ahmihbay," he mumbled, his blue lips trembling in the cold.

"It's going to start snowing soon," Rachel warned as she leaned on the sill.

"You're not helping, Berry," Lucy snapped. "Sh!" She sat down beside Kurt, wincing as the rainwater soaked through her leggings. "Sweetie, aren't you cold?"

Kurt nodded. She stroked his damp hair away from his forehead. "Do you want to come inside?" she asked.

He pulled away from her, sighing through his teeth, and Lucy wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "You're going to make yourself sick," she said. "Come on, baby. Work with me here."

Usually Kurt would respond to prodding touches and gentle words, but judging by Rachel's frustrated tears and the way his pajamas were soaked, he'd been out here for quite a while. Lucy sighed heavily, trying to rub some warmth back into his arms.

"Ahmisbay," Kurt mumbled.

Lucy paused. "Say that again," she said. "A little louder."

"I miss _Blaine_," Kurt sighed.

She rubbed her forehead. "Oh, honey," she said. "There's nothing-"

It was like a light bulb went off in her head. She fumbled in her pocket for her phone, punched in the speed dial, and waited, keeping her hand on Kurt's back. She had to dial three times, but finally-

"Lu? What's wrong? Why're you calling me at two in the morning?"

"Hey, Blaine," she said, setting her phone to her ear while she watched Kurt carefully, his eyes still closed. "Listen, I know this is out of the blue, but Rachel and I are kind of having a crisis with Kurt, and…you still care about him, right?"

"Um," Blaine said, and she could practically see him startle, his eyes getting big as he sat up in bed. "I, uh…yes. Yes, I do. I always have. Is…is he okay? Is something wrong? Is he hurt?"

"He's okay," Lucy said. "Mostly. He's…he's sleepwalking again."

"Oh god," Blaine said. "He's stressed. He's…oh, god, I've stressed him out."

"He's been sitting on the fire escape in the rain and he won't come inside," Lucy said, rubbing Kurt's back. "The only thing I've been able to get out of him is 'I miss Blaine,' so…I was wondering if you could talk to him."

"Yes," Blaine said immediately. "If I can help, yeah…"

"I'm putting you on speaker," she said, switching it over. "Kurt? Sweetheart, I've got somebody here who wants to talk to you."

Blaine cleared his throat. "Hi, Kurt," he said.

Lucy watched Kurt's entire expression soften. "Blaine," he said, almost dreamily. "Hi."

"Lucy told me you're sleepwalking again," Blaine said, his voice sweet and gentle. "You only sleepwalk when you're stressed, so…what are you stressed about? Do you want to talk about it?"

Kurt's mouth crumpled. "I love it here, but…I hate it here," he said, his voice sleepy and unsteady. "I like Vogue, but…it's not gonna be forever, and I still don't know if I wanna apply to NYADA, and…I miss my parents, and my brother, and my bed, and my closet, and…you. I miss you, Blaine."

"I miss you too," Blaine whispered.

A tear tracked down Kurt's cheek. "I hate this," he said. "Why, just…why'd you do it? Why? It…it hurts. It hurts every time I think about it, and it's not, it's not getting better. It's just not."

"I know, sweetheart, and I'm sorry," Blaine said softly. "I'm so, so sorry. I'm sorry that I did it, and sorry that I hurt you, and…I'm sorry that everything's so messed up."

Kurt wiped at his running nose with the back of his hand and sniffled hard. Lucy rubbed the back of his neck. "I wish things were okay again," he said.

"Me too," Blaine said. "But we can't talk about this right now while you're cold and tired, okay? You need to go to sleep."

"Okay," Kurt mumbled, and he wobbled to his feet. Lucy did a tiny dance of victory and grabbed up the phone.

"He's actually going back inside," she said as she helped Kurt back through the window. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

"Could…could you keep me on the phone until he's actually asleep again?" Blaine asked.

"Sure," Lucy said. "Here, I'm going to hand you off to Rachel while I get him back in bed, okay?"

She thrust the phone in Rachel's hands and guided Kurt over to his dresser. Thankfully, most of her clothes were still dry under her hooded coat, but Kurt was completely soaked. She helped him out of his wet pajamas like she would help a child and dressed him back in a dry long sleeved shirt and fleece pants. He was still shivering from the cold, and making him drink something would help warm him up, but it would probably be better to get him right back in bed rather than give him a hot drink while he was still mostly asleep.

Rachel was still yammering on at Blaine on the phone, her hands flailing. Lucy wrapped her arm around Kurt's waist. "Come on, baby, back to sleep," she said, guiding him back to bed.

"Where's Blaine?" Kurt murmured. "I wanna say goodnight to Blaine."

"Rachel, can I have my phone back, please?" Lucy said.

Rachel handed it over. "Lucy, thank you so much for coming out here," she said, relieved. "I was at my wit's end and I knew you'd figure something out and…I'll buy you breakfast tomorrow morning!"

"I will take you up on that offer," Lucy grinned. Rachel flashed an enthusiastic and relieved thumbs-up, hugged her impulsively around her neck, and skittered off to her own part of the room.

Kurt was still sort of sitting up, resting on his elbows. "Blaine?" he said, squinting into the half light of the room. "Where…where's Blaine?"

"I'm right here, honey, I'm still on speaker," Blaine said. "Lucy, is he in bed yet?"

"Halfway there," she said. "He's in dry pajamas and he's sort of lying down, but he won't go to sleep yet."

"Kurt, sweetheart, you need to lie down."

Kurt obeyed, snuggling his cheek into his pillow. Lucy lifted the blankets and tucked him in securely, then slid into bed beside him, draping her arm around his waist.

"Okay, Blaine, he's tucked in and ready for sleep," she said. "And I'm staying with him in case he tries to start wandering again."

"Good plan," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "All right, Kurt. You need to go to sleep for real now. You're always tired when you have a rough night."

"Can you sing?" Kurt murmured drowsily. "Sing our song. Like you used to."

Lucy heard Blaine's breath catch. "Sure," he whispered. "Sure, baby. I'll sing to you. Just close your eyes, all right?"

Blaine started to sing softly, and Kurt closed his eyes obediently, a smile playing at his lips as he began to drift off, his fingers curled gently near the phone. Lucy stroked his hair until his breathing fell into a slow, steady rhythm.

"He's asleep," Lucy whispered.

"Okay," Blaine said. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I think a good night's sleep and something to eat tomorrow, and he'll be fine," she said.

"Good," he said. "And…and Lu? Could…could you tell him I love him?"

"Why don't you call back in the morning and tell him yourself?" she suggested.

Blaine stammered an awkward response and a hasty goodbye; she could almost see him blushing red. She hung up her phone and smoothed the blanket over Kurt. He was fast asleep, even snoring a little, and he didn't rouse as she kissed him on the cheek and curled up beside him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****RAURGH. I HAVE FLAILING DINOSAUR ARMS RIGHT NOW BECAUSE I FORGOT ABOUT THIS ONE AND NOW I HAVE A BAD CASE OF THE FEELS.

If Kurt sleepwalks when he's stressed, then he _definitely _would have sleepwalked like a mofo after the breakup. Poor baby.

Also, Lucy totally lives in NYC too. She goes to NYU as a double major in theatre and education, and when she graduates she gets a job as a theatre arts teacher at a rather nice private school. And also she lives pretty close to Kurt and Rachel, but despite repeated offers to move in and become another roommate, she always declines. She tells Rachel it's because she can't break her lease, but she tells Kurt it's because she can't live with Rachel's special brand of crazy.

(Kurt does not argue this point.)


	258. How I Met Your Mother

(Spoilers for those who are not caught up on the newest season of How I Met Your Mother)

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me. Neither does How I Met Your Mother, but I don't know who owns it. Probably Neil Patrick Harris, because he's just that legen- wait for it...

* * *

><p><em>Okay, kids. I know you've always wanted to know about how I met your mother, but I've always told you it's a really long story. But I guess we have time, so…well, I don't know where to start. Maybe I should start when your Uncle Kurt and I moved into the apartment in New York City…<em>

"We are not putting those swords on the wall," Kurt said flatly, arms crossed over his chest.

"Oh, come on," Finn wheedled. "They look so awesome!"

"They don't match our décor," Kurt protested.

Finn rolled his eyes and gestured broadly at the room. "I know you want it to look fancy and stuff, but we don't really have a 'décor' for our apartment," he said. "Unless you think 'broke college graduate' is a good theme."

"Fine," Kurt sighed. "The swords can go up. But in the back, behind the piano." He checked his phone. "Blaine wants to know where we want to go for dinner."

"I don't know," Finn shrugged as he fiddled with the crossed swords. "Maybe the bar? I mean, it's just a couple of flights down."

"I guess that'll be okay," Kurt said, flopping down on the couch and flinging a leg over the side as he texted his boyfriend. "But we're not going to go to the bar every night, okay? We live in New York City. There are plenty of bars and restaurants and take out places for us to experience."

"Sure," Finn said absently.

_Wait, that's boring. Maybe I should start with running into Puck in the bar?_

"Puck?" Finn blurted out. "Oh my god, what are you doing here?"

Puck grinned. "I've got a real job, Hudson," he said. "No more pool cleaning for me. I've got a nine to five in a high rise."

Blaine nudged Finn out of the way to lean over the bar. "Hi, can I get a Jack and Coke for me, and a martini for my boyfriend?" he said to the bartender. He shifted his weight and accidentally bumped into Puck. "Oh, sorry, I…Noah Puckerman?"

"I don't think it's Puck," Finn said. "I think it's Puck's evil twin."

"No, dude, it's me!" Puck protested.

Blaine looked him up and down. "You have hair. And you're wearing a suit," he said. "I think Finn's right. You're his evil twin."

"Or evil clone," Finn added.

"I think that's close enough."

"No, it's me!" Puck said. "Seriously! I've got a job with the bank! I have an office and everything."

"Yes, but what do you do?" Blaine asked curiously.

Puck flung an arm around Finn's neck. "So how've you been, Hudson?" he asked. "Still single?"

"Still single," Finn sighed.

"Well, now you've got your best wingman ever back!" Puck said. He steered Finn over to the nearest pretty girl. "Haaaaaaave you met Finn?"

_Okay, no. Too far back. Maybe I should start with running into-_

The pretty blonde raised an eyebrow. "Finn?" she said skeptically.

Finn choked. "Oh my god, Quinn, what are you doing here?" he sputtered.

"If you mean what I'm doing here in MacLaren's, I'm getting a drink after work," she said. "If you mean what I'm doing here in New York, then I've got a job on a local news-"

_Wait, wait, no. Let's start with the blue French horn._

"I can't believe you stole a blue French horn for me!" Quinn laughed as she dropped down on the couch. Finn gazed at her, a lump in his throat. Sure, he was twenty-two, but he couldn't help but still see her as his very first sweetheart.

"I think I'm in love with you," he blurted out, and Quinn's jaw dropped so fast he thought it was going to fall off.

_That's just embarrassing. I need to embarrass someone else now. Did I tell you about the time Uncle Kurt and Uncle Blaine broke up? See, Uncle Blaine decided he wanted to go to San Francisco for a while so he could make art and help people…_

"Hey, buddy," Finn said in the slow fakely sweet tone usually reserved for lost toddlers and scared puppies. "It's good to see you out of your room. How're you feeling?"

Kurt shuffled across the living room, his comforter dragging behind him like a cape. "Mmphgaha Blaine," he mumbled.

"Yeah, I know, I'm mad at Blaine too," Finn cooed. "You going to put pants on today, bud?"

Kurt plopped down on the couch, legs sprawled out. "Today is Blaine's pancake day," he complained.

"So that's a no on the pants," Finn said, hastily covering his younger brother up with the comforter. "You want me to make pancakes? I know it's not the same as Blaine, but-"

Kurt responded by wailing and flinging himself face-first onto the couch, hopelessly rumpling the comforter up to his hips. Finn sighed and covered his eyes.

The front door burst open. "Hudson-Hummels, suit up!" Puck declared. "There's a party tonight downtown that's going to be legen…wait for it…" He paused. "No, seriously, wait for it, what's wrong with Kurt?"

"He and Blaine called off the wedding, remember?" Finn said.

"He's not still upset about that, is he?" Puck said.

Kurt's answer was to roll off the couch, wrapping himself up in the blanket as he fell, and plant himself on the carpet. "You made him do the sad burrito thing again," Finn sighed.

_Okay, I feel less embarrassed now. Next time you see your Uncle Kurt, just say the words "sad burrito" and see what he does. So what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah, how I met your mother. Maybe I should start with the pineapple….or the Slutty Pumpkin…or…maybe when your uncles-squared got married? There was that whole thing with Uncle Blaine's hair that…mm, maybe not that. Should I start with Slapsgiving? Or when Uncle Puck and I stopped talking because of Aunt Quinn?_

_No, no, maybe I should start with when I got left at the altar. Oh…did…did I not tell you about that? Yeah, I almost married someone who totally wasn't your mom, but that's okay, because she left me at the altar. Well, okay for you guys. Not for me._

_So where was I? Oh, yeah. Well, there was that whole thing with babies…because first there was Uncles Squared…_

Kurt clasped Blaine's hands tightly. "So how exactly did we get here?" he said faintly.

Blaine rubbed his thumbs over Kurt's knuckles. "Well, we started thinking about babies…and then we were waiting for a sign," he said. "There was Mustache me, and Butch Quinn, and Stripper you…"

"…and then there was Dr. Puck, and Mexican Wrestler Finn," Kurt said. He curled his legs up tighter to sit as close as he could to Blaine, the bed sinking a little under their weight. "So we decided to try for a baby."

"And then we couldn't find a surrogate, and then we did, and then she couldn't get pregnant, and now…" Blaine's voice trailed off and he smiled foolishly at the little white stick with its little pink plus sign. "Now we're going to be daddies."

"How could something so gross make us this happy?" Kurt mused as he gazed at the pee stick.

_So that was the good part with the babies. Then there was the bad…_

"You know, going through this in high school was enough for me," Puck said as he gripped Quinn's hand.

"You're telling me," Quinn said through her teeth as she squeezed back. "I've carried your spawn before, do you know how hard they kick?"

The doctor closed Quinn's chart. "Well, I have some news for you," she said. "First of all…you're not pregnant."

Their mouths both dropped open. "We're not pregnant!" Puck shouted.

"We're not pregnant!" Quinn shrieked, sliding off the table for a celebratory dance. "Thank God! We're not pregnant!"

"But…"

They paused.

"But what?" Puck asked.

The doctor patted the table with a sympathetic smile and Quinn sank down obediently. "We ran some tests and…I'm afraid you'll never be able to have children," she said.

Quinn stared down at the floor. "But that's…that's good, right?" Puck said hesitantly. "You didn't want kids."

"Yes, but…it would…it would always be nice to know that someday…if…you know, that at least…I could," she whispered. "Are…are you sure?"

The doctor nodded and Quinn cupped her hands over her mouth, lost in thought. Puck stood by awkwardly, his hands in his pockets, unable to think of anything to say.

_So yeah. That's why Uncle Puck and Aunt Quinn don't have any kids. But anyways, there's still your cousin, Mollie…maybe I should start with the day she was born._

"What do you mean, you took Kurt and Blaine to Atlantic City?" Finn screeched.

"It was Quinn's idea!" Puck said helplessly as he tangled himself up in the payphone cord, scanning the casino for the inebriated young couple. "She said they were too uptight and needed to relax before the baby was born!"

"For the record, it was _not _my idea to take them to a casino and get them drunk!" he heard Quinn holler in the background.

"The baby is being born _now, _Puck," Finn said. "You've got to get them sober and get them here before the it pops out, because if they miss it they'll be devastated, and I don't their surrogate is gonna want to stick back up her lady cave so they can experience the birth!"

"Fine!" Puck shouted. "Fine! I'll do my best! But if I get them there, I get to pick her middle name!" He unwound himself from the cord. "Oh god, they're making out on the craps table."

_Yeah, that was pretty crazy. Especially your uncles getting banned from the casino for life. But they made it back in time, and were mostly sober, and they were so happy to have their baby that they both started crying. And then they cried harder when they realized that Uncle Puck got to pick her middle name, so that's why her name is Mollie Legendary Anderson-Hummel. And that's how you met your cousin._

_Wait, wait, no. This is about how I met your mother. Okay, yeah. So. _

Kurt knocked lightly on the door. "The bride wants to see you," he said.

"No, no, Finn needs to stay," Puck said, fiddling with the lapels of his suit. "God, I'm going to choke to death."

"You'll be fine," Kurt said. He arched an eyebrow. "You're sure you're going to wear that tie?"

Puck groaned. Finn stifled a laugh and walked down the hall of the hotel to the bride's room. "You called for me?" he asked as he peeked in.

"Is it weird to talk to your high school ex right before you get married?" Quinn worried as she tugged at the neckline of her gown.

"Probably, but it's okay," Finn grinned. "What's up?"

Quinn adjusted her veil. "Do you think I'm making the right decision?" she asked.

Finn sat down. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I think you are. You and Puck have been through a lot in the past fifteen years, and I think…I think you really love each other. I mean, sure, I'm a little sad we'll never have a future together, but still." He smiled. "You and Puck are going to be really happy together."

Quinn smiled. "Thanks," she said. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "And I'm sure you'll find someone for yourself someday too."

Finn snorted. "At this point, I doubt it," he said.

_But kids, your Aunt Quinn was right. I did find someone for myself. I found her a couple of hours later, at the reception. She was the pianist in the band your Uncle Puck hired to play. I saw her across that hotel ballroom and I thought…well, I was hungry, so I was thinking more about the buffet table behind her than her, but still. When I saw her, I knew._

_And that's how I met your mother._

* * *

><p><em><em>**Author's Notes:  
><strong>

****-dary.

It struck me after watching How I Met Your Mother on Netflix for the eighty bajillionth time that I could totally mash up Glee with it. Ergo:

Finn: Ted

Kurt and Blaine: Lily and Marshall (but interchangably)

Puck: Barney

Quinn: Robin

Also I feel like Rachel would be Karen, Ted's snooty high school sweetheart. And Brittany would be Robin's annoying coworker Patrice ("DAMMIT, PATRICE.") But yes. I totally see this.

It's giving me lots of happy feels. :)


	259. Playground Bullies

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

This from the verse where Burt and Carole married when the boys were little.

* * *

><p>"Hey, what's wrong with your stepbrother?" Noah asked, pointing across the playground.<p>

Finn glanced over at the swings. His ten-year-old brother was pressed up against the fence surrounding the playground, staring up at Adrian Azimio, the biggest kid in the class. Kurt looked like he was yelling at him, going red in the face, but he flinched as Adrian clenched his fists and took a swing at him.

Finn bolted across the playground. "Hey!" he shouted. "Hey, leave him alone!"

Adrian turned to face him, which gave Kurt enough time to bite him hard on his arm and take off running. "You bit me!" he bellowed. "You've got to be kidding me, you bit me!"

Finn grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back. "Leave Kurt alone!" he demanded. "He didn't do anything to you!"

A teacher stepped in and took Adrian by the collar. "You're going straight to the principal's office," she said. "We do _not _hit other children. Come on, we're going right to Mr. Whelan."

Finn leaned back, chest heaving, and scanned the playground for Kurt. No one else seemed to notice what had happened, still playing foursquare and kickball on the blacktop. He wandered over to the playscape equipment, scanning for his small brother.

He glanced in one of the plastic tunnels and stopped. "Hey," he said. "There you are. Y'okay?"

Kurt huddled in the safety of his hidey-hole, knees pulled tight to his chest and his face buried in his arms. His shoulders hitched. "That was scary," he said, his voice muffled.

Finn crouched down at the mouth of the red plastic tunnel. "I'm sorry I didn't see it faster," he said. "I came over as soon as I could."

"I know," Kurt said, still not looking up. "Thanks."

Finn leaned closer on his hands and knees. He was too tall to fit comfortably in the tunnel, and Kurt scooted away from him. "Are you all right, or just scared?" he said.

Kurt was silent for a minute. "He tore my jacket," he said in a mournful little voice. "He ripped the pocket off."

Finn frowned. Kurt had only gotten the new coat last Saturday when Carole took them to the mall for a mother-sons shopping day, and he'd been so proud of it. "I'm sorry," he said again. "Maybe Momma can fix it."

"Maybe," Kurt said.

They fell silent. Finn rocked back on his heels, scratching his shin. He wasn't quite sure what to do. Maybe Kurt would be okay. Sometimes Kurt liked his space. So maybe he'd give him a little break and go back to throwing the football with Noah, and he could come back later.

"I think my nose is bleeding," Kurt admitted.

Finn reached into the tunnel, grabbed Kurt by his thin little arm, and dragged him out. Blood was pouring down his chin, dribbling all over his white polo shirt and even onto his pants. "Come on," he said, hoisting Kurt to his feet. "That's not okay."

Kurt covered his bloody nose with his hand and ducked his head from curious eyes as Finn dragged him across the blacktop to the playground monitor. "You know how Adrian hit Kurt and he got took to the principal's office?" he said. "He gave my little brother a bloody nose. Can I take him to the nurse's office?"

The monitor's eyes widened. "Yes, honey, go ahead," she said. "Recess is almost over but I'll let your teacher know where you are."

Finn took Kurt by the hand and walked him inside. The bigger kids were always picking on Kurt, and he hated watching it. Kurt was so small for his age and dressed up for school instead of wearing jeans and cartoon character tee shirts, and he was smart and always got solos in music class. He was different. And the other kids didn't like him. He didn't even have many friends- just that one little redheaded girl, but she was in the other fifth grade class and Kurt didn't get to see her much, except at lunchtime.

Finn walked down the quiet halls, tugging on Kurt's hand every time he lagged behind, and marched into the nurse's office. "His nose is bleeding," he announced loudly as soon as he pushed the door open.

The school nurse, a kindly older lady, took care of things quickly. She handed Kurt a tissue and made him sit down after taking off his jacket, then handed Finn the tissue box. "Keep your head tilted forward," she warned. "I'm going to call your parents to come pick you up."

The nurse went to make the call and Kurt shifted his weight in the chair, trying to find a clean spot on the tissue. Finn silently handed him a clean one.

"I'm dizzy," Kurt sighed.

Finn wrapped an arm around his shoulders and let him lean against his elbow. "It's okay," he said. "Momma will be here soon to pick you up. And I'm going to try better to keep the bigger kids from picking on you, all right?"

"I'm tough," Kurt mumbled into the bloody tissue. "I can fight. Nobody pushes the Hummels around."

"Yeah, well, you're my baby brother, and I won't let anybody push you around," Finn said firmly. "You just stick with me and Noah, okay?"

Kurt didn't argue. He just leaned against Finn's shoulder and closed his eyes, heaving a frustrated sigh as he rubbed at his nose.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Sometimes I really do wish that Burt and Carole had gotten married when the boys were small. Things would have been so much better, I think.


	260. Post Sleepwalking Phone Call

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt shifted under the blankets, cracking one eye open to squint in the morning sunlight. Someone was snoring lightly; he rolled over on his side and jumped a little to find a redheaded girl sleeping in his bed.<p>

"Lucy," he whispered, shaking her lightly. "Lucy, what are you doing?"

"Huh?" she said, bolting upright with blue eyes wide. She glanced around, startled, and looked down at him. "Oh, hi, Kurt."

Kurt rubbed his eyes. "Lucy, honey, I love you, but why are you in my bed?" he said. He frowned. "And why does my throat hurt?" His frown deepened as he plucked at the neckline of his shirt. "And I don't think I was wearing these pajamas when I went to bed last night."

Lucy sighed heavily, drawing her knees up to her chest. "You were sleepwalking again and Rachel called me," she said.

"Why?" Kurt said, puzzled. "She's gotten pretty good about getting me back to bed." He paused. "Except for that one time when she accidentally made me trip over her bicycle and busted my lip open."

"Yes, but this time you were sitting on the fire escape in the pouring rain for an hour," Lucy said. "Rachel tried everything to get you inside but you wouldn't budge. She had to call reinforcements." She raked her fingers through her long red hair, tangled from sleep. "Do you remember anything from last night?"

Kurt covered his eyes, rubbing at his temples to stave off the first pounding hints of an exhaustion-induced headache. "No," he lied.

Lucy leaned over him, pinning him down. "Yes, you do," she said. "You're doing that mouth twitch you always do when you lie."

"Well, I don't think that I remember it, I'm pretty sure I just dreamed it," he protested. "And you'll think it's silly."

She leaned back. "Tell me," she said.

"I dreamed that Blaine was sitting beside me and he sang me back to sleep," Kurt admitted. "I could hear it really clearly. He was…he was singing 'Teenage Dream,' and it was like we never broke up at all and he never…never…"

Lucy pulled his hands away from his eyes. "That wasn't a dream, babe," she said, smiling as she squeezed his thumbs against his palms.

Kurt frowned. "He was here?" he said, confused.

"No, but you kept saying that you missed him, so I called him," Lucy said, linking her fingers through his. "He convinced you to come inside, and then he sang to you till you fell back asleep for real."

Kurt sat up. "Are you serious?" he said.

Lucy nodded. "He still loves you," she said gently. "And you still love him."

"I know, but…" Kurt sighed. "We're too stubborn. _I'm _too stubborn. I don't want to make the first move. I think he ought to do it, after what…what he did."

And then "Teenage Dream" started playing.

Lucy leaned over and picked up the phone. "It's for you," she said, holding it out.

Kurt stared down at the picture on the screen, their cheeks pressed together and their smiles wide and happy. "I can't," he whispered. "I don't know what to say."

"It'll come to you," Lucy said, and she hit answer and held it out to him. Kurt just stared at it, stunned.

"Kurt?"

"Answer him," Lucy whispered.

"Kurt, are you there?"

Kurt shook his head. Lucy bit her lip.

"Kurt…please."

Hesitantly Kurt took the phone, fingers curling around it tentatively. "Hi," he said.

"Kurt, hi," Blaine said, the relief evident in his voice. "I…I wanted to check on you. Did I wake you up?"

"No, I was awake," Kurt said softly. Lucy squeezed his shoulder and got up, walking over to the kitchen.

"Your voice sounds a little scratchy," Blaine said. "Do you feel all right? Lucy said you were out in the rain for a while."

"I might be getting a little bit of a cold, but I'll be okay," Kurt said. "I should be fine for work on Monday."

They fell silent. Kurt sat cross-legged, biting his lip hard, listening to Blaine breathe softly on the other end.

"This doesn't make things magically better," Kurt whispered.

"I…I know."

"You cheated on me."

"I know."

They fell silent again.

"Losing you is killing me," Blaine whispered.

Kurt broke out in a bitter laugh. "Killing you?" he said, his voice rising. "Blaine, you were my first kiss. My first real love. We promised that this was going to be okay. You were even the one who encouraged me to go to New York in the first place. And…and you _cheated _on me, dammit!"

"I know," Blaine said, his voice breaking. "It was stupid. It's the dumbest thing that I've ever done, and I hate that I hurt you. I hate…I hate myself. And…I hate that you hate me."

Kurt's shoulders sagged. "I don't hate you," he said. "I…I'm angry. I'm heartbroken. I am more disappointed in another human being than I've ever been in my life. But I don't…I don't hate you, Blaine."

"It's more than I deserve," Blaine said bitterly. "I accused you of cheating last year, in front of everyone, and now…fuck, I wish that all I did was text another guy."

Kurt leaned his cheek against his hand, his elbow on his knee. "We can't go back and change things," he said. "We can only go from here, and…I don't know where that's going to take us."

They fell silent.

"Can we…at least talk?" Blaine said. "Even if we're not…if we're not boyfriends anymore-"

Kurt covered his mouth, his eyes begin to prickle.

"…you're my best friend. I trust you more than anyone else in my life, ever. You know all my secrets and you…you've cared about me anyway." Blaine's voice cracked hard and his deep exhale echoed over the miles that separated them. "Please…don't…don't cut me out of your life. I don't think my heart could take it."

Kurt took a shuddering breath. "Okay," he said. "Okay, we can…we can talk. But that's all. I'm not ready to just…jump back into anything. And just because we're talking, it doesn't mean that everything's okay. It's not. I haven't…I haven't quite forgiven you yet. It still hurts."

"I know," Blaine said softly. "That's okay. It's all okay. I just…don't want to lose you completely."

Kurt sat up slowly, his shoulder hunching forward. "I have to go get ready for work," he said. "I'll…text you later, okay?"

"Sure," Blaine said. "Sure, that'll be great."

Kurt cleared his throat. "Good luck with getting ready for sectionals," he offered.

"Thanks," Blaine said, quiet and almost formal. "Have a good day at work. Take care of yourself, you always push yourself too hard when you get sick, and-" He broke off. "Have a good day."

"Thanks, you too," Kurt said. "I love-"

He halted midsentence,

"Bye," he said, dropping his phone. He barely heard Blaine's goodbye, the soft click as he hung up, the faint dial tone.

Kurt buried his face in his hands. The bed sank a little as Lucy sat down beside him. She placed her hand on his back.

He couldn't say anything, but a tear dripped down his cheek. Slowly he laid down, resting his head on Lucy's knees, and he closed his eyes as she stroked his hair.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's okay. You can cry if you want, it's all right."

But it felt like all he'd done since Blaine left was cry, so he just curled up tighter, his arms pulled protectively against his chest, and pretended that it was Blaine smoothing his hair and murmuring gentle words of comfort.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****Behold! A follow up!


	261. This is Not About Finn and Lucy

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"What time are they coming to get you?" Lucy asked, rubbing her cheek against Kurt's.<p>

"Around five, I think," Kurt said, leaning back and folding his hands over his stomach. The IV tubing tugged a little as he shifted. "So…a few more hours before they cut me open."

"Shouldn't you get some sleep?" Blaine asked. He raked his fingers through Kurt's silky hair. "You need to get as much rest as you need before your surgery."

"I can't sleep," Kurt confessed, leaning against Blaine's shoulder. "I just keep…thinking too much. And when I do fall asleep, I have nightmares, and…I just don't want to sleep."

Blaine wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer, kissing his temple. "Okay," he said. "We'll be right here, though. Until they bring you in for surgery. I promise."

"And we'll wait for you when you get out," Lucy added. She cupped his hands in hers. "We'll all be here. Your parents, and Finn, and both of us."

Kurt said nothing, but nestled between them, pulling the blankets closer to his chest. He leaned his cheek against Blaine's chest and closed his eyes as Blaine continued to smooth his hair.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THIS IS BUT THE ORIGINAL FILE WAS LABELED "FINN AND LUCY" BUT THIS IS NOT FINN AND LUCY WHERE'S MY FLUCY GOODNESS I DEMAND TO KNOW WHO'S RESPONSIBLE OH WAIT THAT'S ME JK STILL SAD THOUGH.


	262. Secrets

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

trigger warning: eating disorders

* * *

><p>"All right, everybody, keep going!" Mr. Schue called. "We have the Ohio Valley invitational in two days; we have to be ready."<p>

"It wouldn't be this hard if we started learning our songs more than a week before the performance," Finn mumbled, tripping over his own shoes as he stumbled through a dance step. He gritted his teeth and tried to keep going.

"C'mon, Kurt, you can do better than that," Mr. Schue said, patting Kurt on the shoulder as he passed by. Finn frowned. Kurt usually picked things up pretty quickly but he seemed a little…off. Maybe he was just tired. He'd been acting funny since he joined the Cheerios, but every time he and his mom went over to the Hummel house for dinner, Burt never seemed to be alarmed.

They finished off the number and held the pose, smiles frozen on their faces, but Kurt wobbled a little, his knees buckling. His Cheerios uniform top rode up a little in the back and he didn't bother to pull it back down.

"Oh, come on, Kurt," Mr. Schue sighed. "That was such a good run, but you're bringing everyone down." He clapped his hands. "Let's run it again, but I want everyone to give a hundred and ten percent. We're not going to put on a good show if everyone slacks off! Come on, big smiles!"

Finn sighed as he went back to his starting position. This was the fourth time they'd gone through the high-energy choreography in the past half hour, and it wasn't making anyone any better, they were just getting tired.

"Mr. Schue, can't we stop and get some water?" Mercedes asked, exasperated.

"We'll take five after this one," he promised. He tapped his fingers on the piano. "Five, six, seven, eight!"

Finn forced a smile and started into the choreography. Dance was definitely not his strong suit. If he could just stand in the back and sing along, that would be so much-

He barely had time to grab Kurt's arm before he slammed into the ground.

"Oh my god," he stammered, sinking to the floor and cradling Kurt on his lap to keep him from cracking his skull on the tile. "Kurt? Are you okay?"

The others kept moving around them, unaware of what happened, until Tina tripped over Finn's ankle and the music ground to a screeching halt. Finn leaned over Kurt's prone body, trying to protect him from getting stepped on.

"Finn, if you fall in the middle of a dance number, you've got to get back up," Mr. Schue said, sounding irritated. "If you fall at invitational, you'll-"

"Something's wrong with Kurt," he said, his voice coming out higher than socially acceptable. He ran his hand nervously over Kurt's smooth hair. "He blacked out, and I think he's running a fever."

Puck leaned over and scooped Kurt off the floor. Finn scrambled up behind him, his stomach turning at how limp Kurt was in Puck's broad arms. Quinn sat down on the carpeted riser and beckoned to him; Puck laid him down with his head resting on her knees.

"Shouldn't we get him some water or something?" Finn asked, sitting on the floor beside Kurt.

"He's got a water bottle in his bag," Rachel said. She grabbed it from his Cheerio duffle and unscrewed the top, then recoiled sharply. "Oh my god! What is this?"

Quinn grabbed it, dipped her finger along the opening, and tasted it gingerly. "That's Coach Sylvester's weight loss drink," she said, dropping the bottle in disgust and wiping her hand on her skirt. "She must be trying to get him to lose weight to stay on the squad."

"He doesn't have any weight to lose," Puck said, sitting down across from them and frowning.

"Pear hips."

Finn glanced down. Kurt's eyes were barely open, pale and silvery instead of vivid blue-green. "What d'you say?" he asked.

"Pear hips," Kurt repeated. He sighed heavily. "She said I had pear hips." He looked up at Quinn. "I've lost six pounds already."

She pressed her lips in a thin line, clearly ignoring the pleading tone in his voice. "When the last time you had real food?" she asked.

"I had some celery and a Splenda packet at lunch," he offered. Quinn's lips thinned, but she stroked the back of her hand against his cheek instead of scolding him.

Mr. Schue crouched beside him. "How're you feeling?" he asked. "Do you think you can stay for rehearsal?"

The hair on the back of Finn's neck prickled. "I'm going to take him home," he said. "It's after school, anyways, and I think his dad will want to keep an eye on him."

He tuned out Mr. Schue's stammering reply and helped Kurt to his feet, gripping his arms tightly. Kurt was shaking hard and his face had gone starkly pale. "You don't have to do this," he said as Finn helped him out of the room. "I can get home on my own."

"No, I think Burt would kill me if I let you try to drive or something," Finn asked, supporting Kurt's weight as he stumbled down the hall, tripping over his own shoes. "Have you seriously been drinking that stuff? It smells like lighter fluid."

Kurt said nothing.

Finn cleared his throat. "Have you been making yourself throw up?" he asked.

Kurt said nothing.

He nudged the door open, ducking through the early spring rain. Kurt was still quiet beside him, the rain beginning to soak into his hair, turning it softly dark with water and making him look even paler. His eyes seemed sunken.

"You know…I've made myself throw up before," Finn blurted out.

"Why?" Kurt asked, a note of bitterness edging into his voice. "You're perfect."

"I'm…well, I'm not the skinniest guy on the football on the football team, and Santana's always picking on me about it…and she's seen me naked and stuff, so, you know," he rambled. "It's not a lot, it's just…you know, when I've eaten a lot more pizza than I should or something."

He dragged Kurt over to his mom's station wagon and pulled the door open. "It's only once in a while," he said. "And it sucks, and I always hate it when I do it, but…you know. It happens."

Kurt fumbled with the seatbelt and buckled himself in with trembling fingers. Finn slid into the driver's seat and dug the key into the ignition until the engine turned on. He drove in silence, pulling out of the vacant school parking lot and heading down the street towards Kurt's house.

"I've been doing it every night," Kurt confessed.

Finn glanced over at Kurt. He could see it now- the lack of color in his face, the shadows ringing his eyes, the haggard look of his neck and cheeks. "How long?" he asked.

"…two weeks."

"God, Kurt," he said. "God, you're…that's pretty bad."

"I know," Kurt sighed, leaning his chin on his hand. "I just can't stop. And…I feel like crap. I'm hungry but I don't want to eat, and I can't get through practice without getting lightheaded, and…I'm really sick of eating celery all the time."

They fell silent. Finn drove to the Hummel house without looking over at Kurt, or turning on the radio. He was trying to think of something to say, and the words were all failing him.

"Hey," he said as he pulled into the driveway and parked. "Do you think you-"

He glanced over. Kurt was fast asleep, his head leaning against the window and his mouth gaping. Finn exhaled slowly and got out of the driver's seat. Kurt stayed asleep, quiet and limp in his arms.

He got him into the house and set him down carefully on the couch, leaning over to pry off his pristine white cheer sneakers. Kurt mumbled in his sleep and rubbed his cheek into the pillow, his damp hair leaving a splotch behind. Finn grabbed the blue and yellow quilt off the back of the couch and draped it over him, tucking him in snugly.

He paused. Kurt looked really young asleep like that. He didn't like to think about Kurt making himself sick, or starving himself. It wasn't good. It wasn't good at all.

If things with their familieswent the way he thought they were going, Kurt might end up his brother. He'd always wanted a little brother. And big brothers had to look out for the younger ones, didn't they?

He touched Kurt's forehead- he felt warm. Probably getting sick on top of not eating enough. His immune system might be tanking. Before his mom caught him puking for the third time in a row and dragged him to a doctor, he started getting colds and stuff all the time. Maybe that was happening to Kurt.

He went into the kitchen and poured a glass of milk, and after a moment of deliberation, he dumped several spoonfuls of chocolate powder in it. It wasn't much, but it would be something.

He leaned over and shook Kurt's shoulder lightly. "Hey, wake up for a second," he said.

Kurt blinked blearily, but obeyed. Finn handed him the glass. "Drink that," he said. "And don't puke it back up, okay?"

Kurt curled his fingers around the glass and took a tentative sip. "It's like chocolate sludge," he mumbled.

"Yeah, that's the best kind of chocolate milk," Finn said.

Kurt drained the glass slowly; Finn took it back and wiped a drop off Kurt's pale cheek with his thumb. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem," he said. "How're you feeling? Stomach okay?"

"Just tired," Kurt said, hiding a yawn behind his hand.

"Yeah, that happens," Finn said. "Go back to sleep." He drummed his fingers along the side of the glass. "Let me know if you start feeling like crap, okay?"

Kurt nodded, already drifting back to sleep. Finn took the glass into the kitchen and rinsed it out before setting it down in the sink. Kurt was starting to snore a little, and his cheeks looked faintly pink. Hopefully he'd be okay. Hopefully.

The back door opened. "Hey, Finn," Burt said, surprised. "What're you doing here?"

"I, uh…" Finn stammered. "Kurt got sick during glee so I brought him home."

Burt straightened. "Is he all right?" he asked. "What kind of sick?"

"He's sleeping on the couch, but…" Finn took a deep breath. "I've got something to tell you about Kurt…"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****You know how stupid Glee is with plotlines? They're especially stupid with eating disorder plotlines.

In season 4, there's all this drama with Marley. And then she passes out, and they're like "oh, we'll take you to a doctor and stuff" and bam! It's never mentioned again and she's apparently cured.

In season 2 we have Sam talking about how fat he is, which is a lieeeeee. There's some kind of body dysmorphia going on. Do they talk about it? No. They use it for a punchline. (Same thing with his dyslexia, which apparently went away and Ryder caught it, and apparently Ryder's been cured too.)

And we have the running plotline with Finn periodically thinking he's fat, and Santana always making fun of him for being fat, and clearly there's some kind of underlying issue going on. And that sort of influenced this, because I bet when Finn was younger and first starting out on the football team in high school he was pretty self conscious of being a different build than the other kids, especially Puck, because when your best friend matures early on and gets muscles and starts dating and you're still awkwardly tall but you haven't grown into your giant hands and feet yet and you don't have a girlfriend and you have all the pressure on your shoulders to be an awesome quarterback...then well, I can see Finn making some mistakes trying to get into what he feels is ideal football shape. But I feel like Carole would have zeroed in on Finn's changing habits pretty quickly and figured out how to help him. (It probably doesn't help that Finn was most likely Not Subtle about it in the slightest.)

And then you have Kurt and Mercedes, back in season 1, when they're trying to lose weight to stay on the Cheerios. (I still cannot get over that surprised little face Kurt makes when Sue calls him "pear hips.") They focused everything on Mercedes, and after her dramatic episode, it was solved by Quinn's Magical Granola Bar of Health and Wellness. And then Mercedes was all empowered and whatnot and sang a Christina Aguilera song and sashayed off the squad because she is perf. (And since this is season1!Mercedes, then yes, she is perf. Don't get me started on season-2-and-beyond!Mercedes.)

But we never find out anything about Kurt. The last thing we heard is that he had celery and splenda for breakfast. And he stays on the squad till the end of season 1, so clearly he met Sue's weight requirements.

So what on earth did that child do?

Knowing Kurt's personality, he probably did everything in his power to drop the weight that Sue wanted him to lose, by any means necessary, because that boy is _stubborn. _And this also all coincides with him trying to be the Perfect Son for his father. So the poor baby is trying to be perfect for _everyone_- "manly" and butch to please his father, skinny to please Coach Sue, perfect singer to please Mr. Schue (and earn solos), perfect in general to please Finn.

Poor precious darling angel boy.

BRB, snuggling season1!Kurt because the poor little thing needs some love and attention.


	263. Didn't Notice

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me._  
><em>

Trigger warnings: eating disorders

* * *

><p><em>This isn't good, <em>Burt thought. _This isn't good at all._

"Is he all right?" he asked aloud. "What kind of sick?"

"He's sleeping on the couch, but-" Finn took a deep breath, sharp and jittery. "I've got to tell you something about Kurt…"

Burt suppressed the sharp spike of panic rising in his chest and nodded towards the table. Finn sat down quickly, kicking the chair on accident with his knee, and folded his hands, his fingers drumming steadily on his knuckles.

"What's going on?" he asked, keeping his voice low and level as he sat down across from Finn. "He in trouble?'

"I don't know, really, how…to, um, explain it, but…uh…you know how Kurt's on the Cheerios now?" Finn stammered.

"Uh-huh," Burt said slowly.

"Well, the coach…Coach Sylvester, she's really scary and stuff, and pretty much if she tells you to do something you have to do it, and…well, she told Kurt he was fat," Finn blurted out.

Burt's spine stiffened. "And?" he prompted.

Finn shrank back in his chair. "And he's been making himself throw up," he said, looking down at his hands. "Look, I know that eating disorders are supposed to be, like, you know, a girl thing, but…I mean, sometimes they put a lot of pressure on guys too, and it's…you know, it's easy. You just…drink warm salt water or stick your finger down your throat and…" He shrugged unhappily. "You know."

"Not really, but I'd better figure it out," Burt said, rubbing the back of his neck. "God. Did he tell you, or did somebody figure it out?"

"Little of both," Finn said. "He, um…he got really dizzy during glee and he passed out, so I took him home."

Burt got up and squeezed his shoulder. "Thanks," he said. "Thanks for getting him home, and…for telling me." He sighed heavily. "God knows he never would have told me on his own." He squeezed Finn's shoulder again. "You go on home, okay? And if anyone's worried, just tell them that I'm keeping Kurt home with me for tomorrow."

Finn nodded and beat a hasty retreat out the back door. Burt looked down at the table for a moment, and with a heavy sigh pushed himself up and forced himself into the living room.

Kurt was fast asleep on the couch, lying on his back with his right arm stretched above his head. His Cheerios uniform shirt was rumpled, pulled up to his ribcage, and Burt's heart skipped a beat. Kurt was a slim thing, always had been- took after his mother. He shouldn't be trying to lose weight. There wasn't really anything to lose; the last hints of babyishness in his round cheeks were already fading, turning him into a young man instead of his little boy.

But there were bruises around Kurt's eyes, and his lips were tight, and his skin looked cold and blotched and waxy.

_How didn't I notice? _Burt thought. _He's my own kid, and I didn't even notice._

He knelt down beside him and smoothed his hair back. His forehead was warm but his cheeks felt cold and clammy. "Hey, bud," he murmured. "It's going to be okay. I'm gonna keep my eye on you, okay?" He rubbed his thumb against Kurt's cheek. "I'm going to take care of you, just like I promised your mom."

His heart skipped a slow, heavy beat. Mollie would have noticed. But he didn't.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Ugh, so many feels.


	264. You're Not Leaving Dressed Like That

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Kurt preened in the mirror, admiring himself from all angles. This had to be one of his best costumes yet. The fishtail had been an absolute bitch to sew and he'd broken half a dozen needles on his machine trying to get through the layers of metallic fabric (plus, he'd sewn through his finger once and hit himself in the forehead with a broken tip, but that was okay), but it fit him like a dream and didn't look too much like six-year-old-girl-dressing-up-in-a-cheap-Ariel-costume. And sure, he was showing a lot more skin than he usually did, but the superfine gold body glitter definitely highlighted the slim muscle lines on his chest and stomach. He'd probably freeze to death- the golden fishing net arranged artfully across his torso didn't do anything to keep out the cold- but the only time he'd be outside was walking to and from the car.<p>

"No."

Kurt whirled around. "Dad!" he shrieked, instinctively covering his nipples. "Can't you knock?"

"You left the door open," Burt said, crossing his arms and frowning.

Kurt dropped his hands and raised his chin. "Well, I'm trying to get ready for Sugar's Halloween party because I need to leave soon and-"

"Over my dead body," Burt said flatly.

"But why?" Kurt said, his voice rising in a frustrated whine.

"You're half naked," Burt said. "And no son of mine is going out in public half naked. Not only will you freeze to death-"

"It's not that cold, Dad."

"-not only will you freeze to death," Burt continued, glaring at his costume, "but you are _half naked, _Kurt Elijah, and no son of mine is going to leave the house with his nipples showing like that."

"But Dad, I don't have another Halloween costume!" Kurt argued, his voice rising.

Burt gestured broadly at the open closet doors. "You've got enough clothes to outfit half of Lima and you're plenty creative!" he said. "Come up with something!"

"I thought only teenage girls had to deal with their fathers telling them how to dress," Kurt grumbled, plopping down on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Stop pouting, kiddo," Burt said. "Either you find another costume, or you stay home. End of story. I don't want you coming home with pneumonia from walking around mostly naked or wandering around with everybody in the town leering at you."

"But-"

"No buts," Burt said firmly. Kurt thrust his lower lip out further and fixed his biggest, saddest kicked-puppy eyes on his father. Burt just rolled his eyes.

Finn stuck his head in. "Hey, Kurt, are you reaaa…ah, and those are your nipples."

"Why does everyone keep commenting on my nipples?" Kurt complained, flopping backwards on his bed. "I just wanted to be a merman for Halloween. Is that so wrong?"

"Unless mermen wear scarves and jackets to keep from freezing, then yeah," Burt said dryly.

"Well, we need to go," Finn said. He tugged on the hem of his shirt. "What're you gonna do?"

"Either he changes into something warmer and more appropriate, or he stays home," Burt said.

"I don't have another costume," Kurt moaned. "And I refuse to rewear last year's. Kurt Hummel is not an outfit repeater."

"Uh…I've got my old Boy Scout uniform," Finn suggested. "It was mine when I was like…thirteen, but I was already tall for my age, so it'll probably fit you."

"There you go," Burt said. "You can be a boy scout. That'll keep you warm."

"I'll look ridiculous," Kurt said flatly. "Besides, Blaine's going as a sailor. You know….sailor and merman? Now we won't match."

"You've got ten minutes to decide if you're going to be a merman and stay home, or dressing as a boy scout and going to the party," Burt warned.

Ten minutes later Kurt was standing by the front door, sulking. "I look like a dork," he complained.

Burt handed him his navy peacoat. "Yes, but now you're covered up and you won't freeze to death," he said. "You kids have a good time at your party. Mom and I are gonna stay and hand out candy. Remember, be home by eleven- you've got school in the morning."

"Yeah, Dad, we'll remember," Finn said, grabbing the keys. He glanced down. "Aw, man, my Captain America costume doesn't have pockets."

"Don't worry, boy scouts come prepared," Kurt said sarcastically. "I have enough pockets for a small army. I'll hold the keys while we're at the party."

They got into the car and waved goodbye to Burt, and the second Finn pulled out of the driveway Kurt whipped out a plastic Ziploc bag full of safety pins.

"What are you doing with those?" Finn asked.

Kurt grinned. "Just give me a second," he said. "You'll see."

It was a fifteen minute drive to Sugar's house, and by the time they arrived, Kurt had hemmed his shorts up a good four inches, taken in the sides of the shirt to fit his slim build, and unbuttoned the top two buttons. "There," he said, satisfied, as he untied his tie and artfully tousled his hair. "Voila. Sexyish boy scout."

"That's wrong on so many levels," Finn mumbled. "I don't think I want my old uniform back. You can keep it."

They ended up having a marvelous time at the party. It didn't even matter that he didn't coordinate with Blaine anymore- he looked good in his sailor costume, and if his round-eyed gawking was any indication, he approved of Kurt's dress-up choice.

And if the gawking didn't tell him, Blaine dragging him away for a quickie makeout session in the coat closet was definitely convincing.

Kurt and Finn got home right on time. It didn't take long to take the safety pins out, rolling the shorts back to an appropriate length, loosening the shirt, buttoning the front back up, and smoothing down his ruffled hair. They tiptoed into the house to avoid waking up their parents, but as Finn switched on the lights, they came face to face with Burt sitting on the couch, glaring at them.

"Holy crap!" Finn blurted out, grabbing onto Kurt's shoulders. "Holy crap, I think I just peed myself a little."

"Were you trying to give us a heart attack, because I think you succeeded," Kurt gasped.

Burt's eyes narrowed. "You have fun at your party?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," Kurt said, blinking his eyes innocently. "I was appropriately dressed and perfectly warm. Just like you wanted."

"Uh-huh," Burt said, clearly not convinced. "Did you forget that Carole follows you on Instagram?"

"Oh crap," Kurt mumbled.

"She showed me some…real interesting pictures from the party."

Finn leaned over. "Busted," he singsonged out of the corner of his mouth.

"Stuff it, Steve Rogers," Kurt retorted, elbowing Finn sharply in the ribs.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Also, should I be concerned that this isn't the first time I've made jokes about Kurt's nipples.

(see also: Red Bull and Cookie Dough.)

It's just such a funny word.


	265. DISNEY WORLDDDD

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>There is one particular phrase that, no matter how old you are, no matter how jaded you profess to be, will still incite a ridiculous amount of joy into your heart. And when Mr. Schuester announced that phrase to the glee club, the amount of joy went from ridiculous to insane.<p>

"We're going to Disney World!"

Puck's mouth dropped open. Rachel clapped her hands. Finn started squealing like a six-year-old. Kurt was struck dumb. Brittany started dancing around the room.

"Are you serious?" Tina squealed.

Mr. Schue beamed from ear to ear. "I'm serious, guys," he said. "I didn't want to tell you until I was sure, but I got the confirmation letter today. We're going to perform for Magic Music Days!"

Mercedes started shrieking. "Ohmigad, ohmigad, ohmigad!" She grabbed onto Kurt's arm, shaking him. "We're going to Disney! We're going to Disney!"

"I heard, I heard!" he screeched, pulling his arm out of her death grip.

"When do we get to go?" Artie asked.

"We'll be there for the whole week of spring break," Mr. Schue said. "We'll leave Friday after school, and get back the next Saturday night. So that gives us a month to raise money and plan a Disney setlist. We can do a combination of the classic songs with some of the lesser-known ones."

"You guys, I am so excited," Brittany said.

Santana examined her fingernails idly. "Don't be so excited, Britt, we go to Disney for the cheerleading competition every spring."

"Not this year," Quinn said, grinning mischievously. "I heard Coach Sylvester yelling at Principal Figgins about how we can't go. I guess we know why."

"Ooh, she's gonna be mad," Puck snorted.

Mr. Schue clapped his hands together. "Okay, guys, we need to get started on our setlist," he said. "Who has any ideas?"

Rachel's hand shot up.

"Um, besides Rachel."

The choir room door banged open. "Schuester!"

"Oh, no," Mike mumbled.

"Here we go," Sam sighed.

Coach Sue Sylvester stomped into the choir room. "I understand that your musical misfits have ousted my Cheerios from their annual Disney competition," she said.

"Well, it's a pretty big honor for a choir to be chosen for the Magic Music Days," Mr. Schue said, as politely as he could manage. "Figgins was impressed, so he agreed we should go."

Sue slammed her hands down on the top of the piano. Brad scooted back to make way, sensing a tirade coming on. "My Cheerios work too hard to miss out on a competition," she said. "And this particular competition includes a Walt Disney World vacation. How can I deny them this trip of a lifetime?'

"Sue, last year three of your Cheerios got banned for trying to climb out of the Small World boats so they could steal the animatronic of the little boy playing bagpipes," Mr. Schue said dryly.

Everyone swiveled to look at Brittany. "It wasn't me," she said. "I'm not Scottish."

"In any case, Sue, I've already talked it over with Principal Figgins," he said. "He's given us permission to go on the trip."

"Unacceptable!" she barked, banging her hand down on the piano again. "I need my annual Disney trip!" She crossed her arms and surveyed the glee club members, who collectively tried to make themselves smaller under her scrutiny. "You need chaperones. I nominate one Sue Sylvester."

Tina actually whimpered. "We already have a female chaperone," Will said. "Emma's already agreed to go."

"Too bad, I'm coming," she said. She sat down in Will's recently vacated office chair and crossed her arms. "I need my Disney fix, and if I can't get it by accompanying my Cheerios to a competition, then I am willing to babysit your little freakfest."

"You like Disney World?" Rachel said skeptically, before Finn could stop her.

Sue whipped her head around towards her. "Only Nazis could hate Disney World," she said. "Nazis, and those who no longer have joy in their life. Ergo, Nazis."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

****I WANT THEM TO GO TO DISNEY WORLD, YOU GUYS.

(I'm going to Disney for a short trip with my mom in March and I'm SO EXCITED.)


	266. Little Prayers

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Just sit still, baby," Lilah fussed, smoothing Blaine's curls down with small fluttering pats. "Just sit here with Brother, okay? I'll be right back, I promise."<p>

He slid off the waiting room chair and latched onto his mother's leg like a small octopus. "I wanna stay with you," he begged. "Please, Mama? Please?"

Lilah sighed, clucking her tongue anxiously. "I have to stay with your sister," she said, patting his back. "The doctor needs to put the cast on her wrist. You stay right here with Cooper, okay? Daddy will be here from work soon, and he'll take you home. Maybe he'll take you out to dinner, how would that be, hm?"

"But I wanna stay with you," Blaine begged.

Lilah pressed her lips together. "Cooper…" she trailed off.

Cooper, fourteen and usually too cool to pay attention to his eight-year-old half brother, sighed and scooped Blaine onto his lap. "I'll keep an eye on him," he promised. Lilah smiled, brief and distracted, and kissed Blaine's dark curls before dashing hastily back towards the triage rooms.

Blaine huddled on Cooper's lap, tucking up his legs and snuggling his chin against his big brother's shoulder. His stomach still hurt from panic and adrenaline- it happened so quickly, Francey's fall on the thick glassy ice and the echoing crack of bone breaking and his mother's far-from-calm reaction. He didn't like to see his mother upset, he didn't like to hear his sister crying.

"You okay?" Cooper asked, shifting Blaine's weight on his knees to get a better look at his Nintendo in his hands.

"Yeah," Blaine said in a small voice.

Cooper nudged him lightly, his thumbs mashing into his Legend of Zelda game. "It'll be okay," he reassured Blaine. "Francey'll be fine. You'll see."

"I guess so," Blaine mumbled.

He hunched up close on his brother's lap, aimlessly watching him play his game. Cooper let him watch for a while, then finally sighed and slid him off his knees. "You want me to go get a drink for you?" he offered, slightly impatient but not unkind. "I can get you a soda."

Blaine shrugged. Not even the lure of the oft-forbidden treat was enough to perk him up. Cooper ruffled his curls. "Don't move, okay? I'll be right back."

"Okay," Blaine said forlornly.

He settled back into the chair, resting his chin on the arm as he watched the quiet waiting room. A television played the news in the corner, and a thin nurse with a down-turned mouth shuffled paperwork at the desk. His tummy flipped again; he didn't want to be all alone without his mom or his brother, even with the promise of a soda.

He slid out of the chair and padded quietly down the hall, his snow-damp sneakers tapping and squeaking on the linoleum. "Coop?" he called, his voice sounding small. "Cooper?"

No one answered. He kept walking, looking for the soda machine, looking for his brother. No one noticed him, and he swallowed hard, refusing to acknowledge that he was lost.

He rounded a corner and paused. A little boy his own age, maybe a little younger, sat on the floor outside a closed room. Pages from a coloring book were strewn around him, half of them colored with crayons in methodical neatness. Blaine blinked, surprised.

The boy hummed to himself, pausing briefly to brush his hair off his forehead with the back of his wrist. He moved a completed page to the side and paused to study his remaining choices, lips drawn down in a serious pout. Blaine leaned in to examine the pages, his curiosity piqued.

"That one," he said without thinking, pointing to a black and white picture of Peter Pan and Tinker Bell. "You should do that one."

The boy glanced up, one eyebrow raised skeptically. "I'm going to color this one," he announced, picking up a different page. "And you're bossy."

"I'm not bossy," Blaine protested. "I just thought it was a cool picture."

The boy rocked back on his heels, his brow still furrowed. "Then you can color it in," he said, handing it to Blaine. Blaine took it and sat down beside him, picking up a green crayon.

They worked in companionable silence, their crayons making soothing steady strokes across the thick paper. Blaine peeked over the other little boy's shoulder to see what he was up to; he tried to make his strokes as even and delicate as his. He wasn't very successful, though.

The smaller boy focused on his picture, completely absorbed in his work. The tip of his little pink tongue poked out of his mouth as he concentrated. Blaine studied him out of the corner of his eye. The other boy noticed, glancing up at up through his long eyelashes. "Why're you looking at me?" he asked. Blaine shrugged. The boy set down his crayon, wiped his waxy fingers on his hip, and held out his hand. "My name is Kurt Elijah Hummel. What's your name?"

"Blaine," he said, squeezing Kurt's hand.

Kurt frowned. "Is that all?" he asked.

"No," Blaine said, picking up his crayon and going back to work on his page. He filled out the green of Peter Pan's pointed hat with swoopy strokes. Kurt waited for a further explanation, but gave up with a small sigh.

They colored quietly for a moment. "I'm seven," Kurt announced.

"Oh," Blaine said. He straightened. "I've been eight since Tuesday."

Kurt wrinkled his nose. "Well, I'll be eight in April," he said, as if he was still trying to one-up Blaine.

"My sister'll be eleven in April," Blaine said. "She fell and broke her arm, so she's getting her cast put on."

Kurt was quiet for a moment. "My mommy's sick," he said finally.

Blaine paused. "Oh," he said. A sick mom was worse than a broken-up sister arm. Moms weren't supposed to get sick.

Kurt didn't look up from his picture. "She's been in the hospital for three weeks and two days," he said, his high voice fading softer still. "Daddy lets me come see her after school and when it's the weekend, but the doctor wanted to talk to them and so Daddy told me to color out here until he got me."

"Oh," Blaine said again, feeling small and stupid.

Kurt huddled against the wall, resting his chin on his knees and wrapping his slender little fingers around the toes of his brown winter boots. "I don't like my mommy being sick," he whispered.

Blaine bit the end of his crayon. It didn't taste like anything, but it made his teeth feel funny. He half-expected Kurt to say something about messing up his crayon, but Kurt didn't even look up. His eyes were glazed over and his cheeks had gone very pink. Blaine sidled closer, pressing his shoulder in friendly comfort against Kurt's. He could see the soft freckles dotting his nose.

"It'll be okay," he whispered. "Your mommy'll get better."

Kurt sniffed hard. "What if she doesn't get better?" he whispered, so faint that Blaine had to press his cheek against Kurt's in order to hear him properly. "What if Mommy goes to heaven? I don't want her to go to heaven."

Blaine thought hard back to his Sunday school classes, sitting in the little chairs in the children's wing of St. Catherine's, listening sleepily to the kind-faced nun while he traced his fingers along the patterns the stained glass windows made on the scratched old tables. "Maybe Jesus needs your mommy in heaven," he offered.

It was a dim comfort and he knew it, so he wasn't surprised when Kurt covered his eyes with his hands. "But I need my mommy more than Jesus does," he said, his voice wavering on the verge of tears. "I want my mommy."

Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt. "But you'll have your daddy," he said. Kurt curled in on himself in a tight little ball, his face hidden behind Blaine's forearms. "Don't worry, you'll be okay." He patted Kurt's back the way his own mama did when he was upset, steady and soothing. "Don't cry, it'll be okay."

He bent over Kurt's bright head and pressed a kiss like a blessing on his smooth hair. "Please don't cry," he entreated. Kurt nodded, hiccupping loudly. Blaine giggled a little and Kurt pulled back, his eyes still glassy with tears but the barest hint of a smile on his lips. He rubbed at his cheeks with the back of his sleeve, took a deep breath, and picked up his crayon again. Blaine grinned and did the same.

Kurt had just begun his second picture and Blaine was well into his third when the door behind them opened. A big-shouldered man in a baseball cap loomed above them. Blaine dropped his crayon. The man had deep lines around his mouth, like he'd been frowning so long that his face had stuck that way, but his eyes were clear and kind. "Kurt?" he said. "You wanna come see Mommy?"

Kurt scrambled to his feet, his shoe skidding on his half-finished drawing. "Yes!" he said. "I wanna see Mommy."

The big man looked down at Blaine, the scowl lines deepening, and Blaine swallowed hard. Kurt latched onto the man's hand, his tiny fingers disappearing in the giant grip. "Daddy, this is Blaine," Kurt explained. "He was coloring with me. He's very nice."

Kurt's daddy smiled at last, but his mouth still looked tired. "Good to meet you, Blaine," he said. He picked Kurt up as if he didn't weigh anything at all. "C'mon, kiddo. Mom wants to see you."

Kurt brightened, his smile a million watts. He was already wriggling out of his father's arms, ready to make a beeline for the hospital bed. Blaine peeked inside to watch. A pretty lady was lying there, very thin and very pale, but her long hair spilled around her shoulders like a princess's, and her blue eyes were brilliant. She held out her arms wide for Kurt, and before the door closed all the way, he saw Kurt leap into her embrace, her eyes closing in happiness as she folded him into her hug, kissing his cheek and rocking him on her lap.

A lump rose in Blaine's throat. He didn't want Kurt's mommy to go to heaven either.

"Blaine? Blaine! Oh, god, there you are!"

He glanced up to see his long-forgotten brother charging down the hall towards him. "Oh, Cooper!" he said, startled. "I didn't mean-"

Cooper abruptly snatched him up in a smothering hug, his arms crushed at a funny angle against his brother's chest and the tips of his sneakers dangling above the floor. "Don't you ever run off like that again, you little pest!" he exclaimed, hugging Blaine tightly. He set him down and rubbed at his face. "You okay? You didn't get kidnapped?"

"No, I just went looking for you, and then-"

Cooper swatted him over the head. "Don't you dare run off like that again, because if you do, I'll shave your head and sell you to the zoo," he threatened.

Blaine's mouth dropped open. "But…but Cooper-" he said, reaching up anxiously to mash his unruly curls down, as if by plastering them to his head he could prevent Cooper shearing them off.

Cooper hugged him again. His winter coat smelled like cold rain and preteen body spray. "If you don't tell Mom you ran away, I won't tell her," he said. "But if you do, I'll tell her it was your fault."

"I didn't run away, I went to find you," Blaine protested.

Cooper ignored him, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a glossy green can. "I got you a soda," he said. "Let's go back to the waiting room, okay?"

"Okay," Blaine said, latching onto his brother's hand. "Can I play your Zelda game?"

"You touch it, and I'll bite you."

"I'll tell Mama you left me alone."

"You were the one who wandered off."

"I was just looking for you."

"Just drink your soda, kid."

Blaine did, and in the haze of sugar, the blur of getting his fully-casted and mildly-drugged sister home, the novelty of ordering pizza for dinner, and the sudden rush to complete his forgotten homework done before bedtime, he forgot about Kurt. He didn't think about him until he woke up in his father's arms, the world swaying around him as he was carried up the stairs to bed. And then he thought about Kurt, wondering if he was still at the hospital with his mommy or if he was getting tucked into bed too, and whether or not Kurt would keep the pictures he colored. He hoped he did.

And as his mother pulled his sheets and blankets tight around him, kissing his cheeks and checking the nightlight and tweaking his socked toes with a loving little pinch, he sent up a sleepy little prayer that Kurt's mommy would be okay, so Kurt wouldn't have to be sad.

_But if she has to go to heaven, _he thought, his dark curly head already sinking into the depths of his pillow, _then please let him have nice people to take care of him. He's really nice, and I don't want him to be lonely._

* * *

><p><em><em>**Author's Notes:  
><strong>

****Aaaaaaaaand adorable cuddly baby snuggles ensue.

This was originally published as the first chapter of "The First Year is Paper," which was going to be where I posted my drabbles for Klaine Week. But, um...things got away from me. So...I deleted it and reposted it here. So...I hope you like it!


	267. Spot Conlan

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me. And Newsies belongs to Disney. Boo.

* * *

><p>"Yeah," Finn called, grinning so wide his face might split. "Yeah, you guys gotta be am-bastards-"<p>

"Ambassadors," Blaine corrected behind his hand, but Finn carried on regardless.

"You guys gotta be am-bastards to go tell the other newsies we're on strike!" he shouted.

Sam raised his hand. "Hey, Finn, I'll take Harlem," he offered, his eye patch sliding a little towards the bridge of nose.

"I'll take Midtown," Mike said.

"I got the Bowery, Finn," Puck chimed in, punching Finn lightly on the shoulder.

"And I'll take the Bronx," Artie said. His leg braces clanked as he limped forward.

Finn sorted out the rest of the boys, sending them off to Queens and East Side. Blaine shifted his weight anxiously. This newsboy strike was already beginning to spiral out of hand. "So what about Brooklyn?" Finn said. "Who wants Brooklyn?"

The remaining boys averted their eyes in studied nonchalance. Finn rubbed the back of his neck. "Come on, it's Kurt Hummel's territory," he said. "What's the matter, you scared of Brooklyn?"

"Hey, we ain't scared of Brooklyn!" Rory called. The other boys glanced at him and he took a step back. "Kurt Hummel…makes us a little nervous."

"Well, he don't make me nervous," Finn shrugged. "So you and me, Rory, we'll take Brooklyn." He slung an arm around Blaine's shoulders, making him jump in surprise. "And Blaine'll keep us company."

The other boys let out a noisy whoop of agreement. Blaine grimaced and tried to move away from Finn's arm around his neck. "All right, let's go, let's go," Finn shouted. "Let's get going."

Blaine pulled away from Finn's arm. "I've never been to Brooklyn," he said, adjusting his tie. "Is it really that terrifying?"

"Yes," Rory said. "No. Sort of?" He sighed. "It's Kurt Hummel. He's the leader of the Brooklyn newsies. He's kind of a hardass. Thinks he's better than everyone else."

"Aw, he's not that bad," Finn shrugged, loping off down the street. Blaine followed him, the July heat beating down on him. He was fairly certain the back of his neck was already pink from the sun.

The boys headed down the street, lazy and unconcerned, chatting aimlessly. Blaine trailed behind, thinking carefully. He probably wasn't making a wise choice, joining in with this newsboy strike. He was only supposed to work as a newsie for the time being, until his father had his job back. And he probably shouldn't have blabbed to his older brother about things. If Cooper went through with writing the article about the newsboy strike, he might lose his job as a cub reporter at the New York Sun, and without their father working steadily, the family would lose a huge piece of their income. Selling papers wasn't bringing in a lot- especially with the strike and all- and his sister wasn't exactly making a fortune working in the pencil factory.

Blaine sighed deeply. He wasn't supposed to be like this- a working boy at sixteen. His father had promised he'd at least get to finish school, maybe even go to college. Maybe this would all be over by the end of summer and he could go back to school.

Of course, being back at school wasn't going to change how lonely he was, but he was sort of expecting that. One usually didn't find a lot of boys like him- _gay_, Blaine reminded himself. _It's okay to say it._

He hurried to catch up to Finn and Rory. "So have you ever been to Brooklyn?" he asked.

"I spent a month there one night," Rory said cheerfully, walking along the edge of the curb like a balance beam. Blaine glanced at Finn for clarification, but the taller boy just loped down the street, hands in his pockets, whistling a jaunty tune.

"So is this Kurt Hummel really dangerous?" he tried. The boys didn't respond, just sort of snickered. He sighed and gave up efforts for a conversation.

They crossed the bridge into Brooklyn and strolled onto a pier. Boys of varying sizes and ages milled around, most stripped down to their undershirts, some soaked through from splashing around in the dirty river water. A tall boy with a thin face pulled himself onto the pier, water dripping off him, and glowered at them. Finn pushed past, unconcerned, but Blaine took a careful sidestep.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite knuckle dragger."

Finn grinned. "Hey, Kurt," he said.

Blaine followed Finn's gaze, shading his eyes. A brunet boy in a plaid shirt and red suspenders sat high atop a piling, long legs dangling down. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, baring his firm arms, and his face was shielded by the short brim of a brown cap. He jumped down from the piling in one smooth gesture. Finn's grin widened as he patted Kurt on the shoulder.

"Hey, Rory," Kurt said. "How're things?"

Rory fumbled in his pocket. "I brought you a couple of good shooters," he said, holding out a handful of marbles. Kurt eyed them carefully before selecting a particularly nice agate and pulling a polished slingshot out of his backpocket. Blaine raised a thick eyebrow. Didn't slingshots belong on playgrounds, in the hands of little boys who hadn't outgrown them yet?

"So," Kurt said, setting the marble in the slingshot. "Finn. I've been hearing things."

Finn shifted his weight. "Where've you heard that?" he hedged.

Kurt drew the marble back, taking aim. "Harlem. Queens." He let go and the marble sailed over Blaine's head and crashed into a beer bottle abandoned on a piling. It shattered in a million pieces and Blaine jumped in surprise. "All over." He set the slingshot down. "So your newsies are playing like they're going on strike?"

"Yeah, well, we are," Finn said.

Blaine squared his shoulders. "And we're not playing," he added. "We are going on strike."

Kurt whipped round to face him. "Yeah?" he said. Blaine stood his ground, matching Kurt's gaze. He hadn't expected Kurt Hummel's eyes to be that beautiful a shade of blue, or that they would be framed with such thick eyelashes. "What is this, Finn, some kind of walking mouth?"

"No," Finn said. He blinked. "Uh…yeah. A mouth…with a brain. And if you've got half of one, you'd listen to what he has to say."

Kurt glanced from Finn to Blaine and leaned back against a piling, arms folded and an eyebrow raised in a smirk that clearly said _you may talk, but I'm not really going to care about it. _Blaine swallowed hard. He wanted Kurt to care.

"We started the strike, but there's no way we can do it alone," he said, swallowing hard. "So we're talking to newsies all over the city."

"Uh-huh," Kurt said, idly studying his fingernails. "So I've heard." He fanned his fingers out, apparently fascinated by his cuticles. "So what have they said?"

Blaine straightened. He was going to make Kurt pay attention. "That they're waiting for Kurt Hummel," he said. "That you're the key." He sidled closer, taking notice of the pleased pink flush spreading across Kurt's cheeks. "That you're the most respected and famous newsie in all of New York." He was close enough to see the flecks of green and gold in Kurt's blue eyes. "And if Kurt Hummel joins the strike, then they'll join. And we'll be unstoppable." He planted his hands on either side of Kurt's knees, leaning in till their foreheads nearly touched, enjoying the flush creeping up to Kurt's ears. "So, you see, you've got to join our strike."

Kurt held very still for a moment, his brilliant blue gaze locked on Blaine's. "Finn, I don't know where you found this one, but I like him," he said. "He's got brains." He planted his hand on Blaine's chest and gave him a gentle push backwards. "But I've got brains too. And more than just half of one." He stood up, backing Blaine towards the others. "How do I know you're not just going to run when some goon comes at you with a club? How do I know you've got what it takes to win?"

"Because I'm telling you, Kurt," Finn said quietly.

Kurt gave him a long look over his shoulder. Blaine's breath caught in his throat; his chest still burned lightly where Kurt's palm had pressed against him. The late afternoon sun caught Kurt's eyes, making them shine. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, baring the white hollow of his throat and showing the faintest promise of his slender chest, and Blaine had the sudden wild desire to lick a teasing stripe down the graceful line of Kurt's neck. He stifled a shiver, balling his hands into fists and praying that Kurt didn't notice him gawking.

"That's not good enough, Finn," Kurt said at last. He raised his chin. "You've got to show me."

He turned sharply and walked away, leaving Blaine with the distinct impression of a young prince ending an audience with his subjects, and he watched the way Kurt's hips swayed. He didn't see Kurt again for a few days, but he dreamed of him that night, in the sort of dream that made him bolt upright in the middle of the night, gasping for breath as his body ached with unattained desire.

But when he saw Kurt again, all he could think was _oh good, now maybe I won't die._

They were in the middle of their second riot for the week- because of course, there had to be riots. And they'd come out on top for the last one, so naturally the boys of the Manhattan lodging house were riding high on pride. But pride couldn't do anything against strikebreakers, not when it became a game of untried teenage boys versus grown men with weapons.

He hated the riots, hated the terror and unpredictability and the unnerving feeling that _if you mess up, you might die. _This wasn't what he wanted. All he wanted was a summer job until his father was back on his feet, not riots and strikes and scabs.

He was scrambling away from a huge man with a chain, trying to remember what his brother Cooper had taught him about boxing- jabbing and punching and blocking was hard to remember in a crisis situation when he heard Puck start shouting.

"Brooklyn! It's Brooklyn!"

The others took up the call, and he craned his neck to see a rampant group of unfamiliar teenagers descending from the rooftops and fire escapes. Kurt perched atop a railing, his slingshot dangling from his fingers. "Never fear, Brooklyn is here," he called, sounding amused, and took aim.

With reinforcements, the odds turned to their favor, and Blaine sagged in relief when the strikebreakers backed away- or, rather, were forced away. He sat down heavily on the front step of the distribution office, smiling crookedly to himself as he watched the terrified riot turn into victorious whooping.

Finn and Kurt were right in the middle of things. Kurt had lost his hat and his brown hair swooped over his forehead; he brushed it back and laughed at something Finn said. Blaine smiled to himself.

"Blaine! Blaine!"

He looked up to see his brother pushing through the crowd, holding his beloved camera out of harm's way. Cooper grinned. "Nice to see you still in one piece, little brother," he said.

"I can take care of myself," Blaine said stiffly.

Cooper rolled his eyes and set up his camera. "Get your friends in here," he said. "They want the strike for the front page. If we hurry, we can get your picture up for the evening edition."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

I JUST REALLY LOVE NEWSIES, YOU GUYS.

It was one of my first fandoms, back when I was in middle school. That was before Tumblr and suchlike- I was on a Yahoo group and created my own Geocities site. Because I was just that awesome.

But seriously, this was fun.

Spot Conlan was always my favorite newsie, and I was really excited that Kurt fit for him. And of course Blaine would be David. And Finn as Jack Kelly is _adorable._

But now I want to write the riot scene at Medda's theater, because OF COURSE IT WILL BE DRAMATIC AND ANGSTY AND FULL OF INJURIES AND BLAINE WILL HAVE TO RESCUE KURT AND THERE WILL BE SNUGGLES.

OOH SOMEONE PROMPT IT. GO TO MY TUMBLR AND PROMPT ALL THE NEWSIES THINGS!


	268. Missing Moment

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"All right, everybody, get your boarding passes ready," Mr. Schue called wearily, waving limply for them to gather around the gate. "Got your passes? Got your bags?"<p>

"We've got it, Mr. Schue, we're high schoolers, not sheep," Mercedes snapped, arms folded across her chest.

"High schoolers who lost Nationals," Santana shot back, and Rachel let out another noisy sob. Kurt gritted his teeth and shouldered his carry-on.

"I know you guys are upset, but it's not a total loss," Mr. Schue said. "You went to New York, you got to perform…"

"We got to get our asses handed to us," Puck said.

Mr. Schue huffed. "Just get on the plane before you get left in New Jersey," he said. "Remember, your seats are in alphabetical order."

Kurt shuffled onto the plane behind his stepbrother. Finn had to duck to climb aboard, but it wasn't nearly as funny as it had been a few days ago, when they were leaving Ohio and everyone was high on energy and preshow jitters. They left as hopeful competitors, and they were returning as national losers.

He tucked his carryon under his seat and settled back, buckling himself in. Finn stared blankly at his locked and upright tray, brown eyes glazed over. "Finn, seatbelt," Kurt reminded him. Finn blinked. "You know, if you're not going to enjoy the window, you might as well give it to me."

"Okay," Finn said dully.

Kurt straightened. "Oh," he said. "Well then. Let's switch."

They settled into their seats just as the overhead announcements began. Finn still stared blankly at the seat in front of them. "Finn, seriously, seatbelt," Kurt said. He nudged his brother; Finn started and fumbled with the silver clasp. "Are you still that upset?"

"Yeah," Finn grunted as the plane began to taxi down the runway. "We would've won if I hadn't been so…so stupid."

"You don't know that," Kurt said. "Maybe we were doomed even before you decided to gnaw on Rachel Berry's face in front of all of New York City."

Finn closed his eyes and knocked his head back against the headrest. "I'm so stupid," he sighed.

"You're not stupid, Finn, just…horribly misguided," Kurt said. The plane gave a slight lurch as they left the asphalt and began to climb; they both grabbed for the other's sleeve. "Things could've been a lot worse."

"I don't see how," Finn grumbled. He stared blankly at the lights overhead. "Everything sucks, dude. Everything sucks."

Kurt opened his mouth to comfort him, realized there was neither nothing he could nor nothing Finn would listen to, and just patted Finn's arm before reaching into his pocket for a packet of chewing gum. He held out a piece silently to Finn, who paused for a moment before offering him a faint smile in lieu of thanks.

Chewing gum helped the popping in his ears, but it did nothing to alleviate the exhaustion sinking into his bones. He was so tired, more tired than he'd been in a while. The whole trip meant walking all day and cramming into an overcrowded room to sleep at night, and that didn't even count the hours of rehearsal they'd had at three o'clock in the morning before their performance, trying to nail down choreography in an abandoned hotel ballroom while they prayed none of the hotel staff would kick them out. He hadn't gotten a bit of good sleep the whole trip- apparently he'd not only sleepwalked, but he and Brittany had had terribly amusing conversations in the middle of the night- and now that his buoyant adrenaline over being in New York had tanked, he could barely keep his eyes open.

But apparently sleeping on an airplane was impossible, because try as he might, he couldn't fall asleep. Finn's long legs were crunched up into his chin, and yet his lanky stepbrother was fast asleep in his seat, mouth gaping in an unattractive snore. Kurt tried leaning against the window, leaning back, leaning his cheek against Finn's shoulder- nothing. He couldn't sleep.

He tried to listen to his iPod, but the battery died a mere twenty minutes in. He tried to watch the in-flight movie, but he wasn't in the mood for an action-adventure flick. He flipped through the Sky Mall catalog, but his glasses kept slipping down his nose and his eyes were too strained to focus properly, so he just stowed it in the outside pocket of his carryon to look at later. And his tired mind kept replaying their performance- what could he have done better? Where had he failed? Was he the reason they didn't even make the finals?

The intercom dinged overhead. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," the pilot said, low and pleasant. "We're about thirty minutes from our destination, and we may experience some mild turbulence, so…"

If this was mild turbulence, then real turbulence must be like rocks in a blender.

Kurt curled up tight in his seat, his shoes abandoned beneath him, his arms folded and his chin tipped to his chest. His stomach began to twist, churning in his body like a shaken soda, and he clamped a hand over his mouth. The rest of the plane was quiet- all of his friends were asleep or watching the movie or talking quietly, but he was by himself with his face pressed against the cold window and his brother snoring in his ear. A rebellious tear squeezed out of his eye despite himself. It was so stupid to cry, but he all he wanted out of life was to go home and walk on solid ground and sleep in peace in his own quiet bed and just forget about this whole stupid trip.

The plane began its descent at long last and everyone else began to wake up. Finn yawned hugely, stretching his arms above his hand and wincing when he smacked his hands against the ceiling. "Ow," he said thoughtfully. He glanced at Kurt. "Y'okay?"

"I'm fine," Kurt muttered, rubbing surreptitiously at the bridge of his nose.

"You look like crap," Finn said.

Kurt clenched his jaw. Of course he looked like crap. He was wearing yoga pants and a zipup hoodie, his glasses were sliding down his nose, and he had a sneaking suspicion his hair was sticking up in the back after all of his restless attempts to get comfortable. "I'm traveling, I'm allowed to look like crap," he snapped. He rubbed at his cheek, feeling the faintest hint of stubble and the promise of a painful zit at the side of his nose. "You don't look that fantastic yourself."

Finn, who was dressed in the same tee shirt he'd slept in the night before, shrugged.

Kurt slid his feet back into his shoes and gathered his carryon as the plane inched up to the gate. His knees cracked as he stood up, his aching back still stooped. "All right, you guys, your parents should be waiting for you," Mr. Schue called. "If you don't have anybody to pick you up, stay at the baggage claim and I can give you a ride. Make sure to get all of your stuff, okay?"

Kurt ignored him and followed Finn down the aisle, his bag snagging on the seats as he passed. Ordinarily he would be cautious of the leather getting scraped, but he just did not care at all anymore. All he wanted was to sleep in his own bed again.

He stumbled out of the gate and into the terminal, his legs tired and shaky. "Is Mom getting us or Dad?" Finn asked.

"I don't know, I don't remember," Kurt said, but he glanced up to see the familiar figure of his dad standing by the arrivals gate. The tension drained from his shoulders in the childlike relief of seeing his father waiting for him.

"Oh, look, they both came," Finn said, waving to Carole, who waved back in excitement.

And then Kurt saw something a million times better than his father waiting to take him home, better than the idea of a hot shower in his own bathroom, better than the prospect of sleeping in his own room with his white noise machine.

He saw him standing close to his parents, just a little bit behind Carole. His dark curls were a little on the wild side and his cardigan hung in a carelessly attractive way on his body. One hand was tucked in the back pocket of his dark wash jeans; the other hung at his side, clutching a bouquet of yellow and red flowers. His eyes lit up when he saw Kurt, and he raised his hand in a little wave.

Without thinking, Kurt dropped his carryon and bolted for him. Blaine caught him in a firm hug, arms clasped tight and safe and secure around his waist and back. Kurt buried his nose in the crook of Blaine's neck, completely unashamed, breathing in the scent of laundry detergent and nice cologne and coffee and cinnamon and warm Blaine.

"I missed you," he mumbled into Blaine's shoulder. "I missed you so much."

Blaine kissed the side of his head. rocking him a little back and forth. "Oh, I missed you too," he said. "I lo…"

He paused there, taking a little step back, arms still locked around Kurt's waist. His amber eyes danced. "I like your glasses," he finally said. He rubbed his hand against the small of Kurt's back. "You look handsome."

"I look like I've been mopping Grand Central Station," Kurt said flatly.

Blaine laughed. "Still handsome," he said. He smiled at Kurt, then shook his head. "I, um…got you some flowers. If you'd like them." He held them out, suddenly bashful. "I didn't know if you'd want flowers, it just seemed-"

"I love them," Kurt said fervently. He paused. "I don't have anything for you. I mean, I have a present for you in my bag, but I didn't know you were coming to pick me up." He glanced down at his abandoned carryon. "Would you like a complimentary Sky Mall catalog?"

"I'd love it," Blaine said, grinning widely.

"Hey, kiddo, remember me?" Burt cut in. "Your dad? The guy who changed your diapers and carried you everywhere and listened to your one-kid production of Sound of Music at least once a week? Think you could say hi to him?"

Blaine gave him a gentle pat, and Kurt reached out to hug his father. "Hi, Dad," he said.

Burt patted his back, his hand broad and firm. "Good to have you home, buddy," he said, and he bent to press a rare affectionate kiss to Kurt's forehead. "Missed you."

"Missed you too," Kurt sighed.

Carole squeezed his arm. "I've got dinner waiting at home," she said. "You can tell us all about the trip over chicken pot pie, okay?"

"Okay," Kurt said, slightly overwhelmed. His dad hefted his carryon, already headed toward the baggage claim; Carole had her arm around Finn's waist. They started to wander off without him.

Blaine took his hand, linking their fingers together. Kurt smiled, wide and exhausted, and Blaine leaned in to kiss him, soft and warm and all-encompassing, his fingers tangling in the soft unstyled hair at the nape of Kurt's neck, and Kurt closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion of the week fall from his shoulders.

Blaine leaned back, smiling. "Let's get you home," he said, and Kurt wanted to tell him he was already home, that he could be happy forever just like this, but all he could do was lean his head against Blaine's shoulder and squeeze his hand as tightly as he could manage.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

DARLING SWEET SNUGGLY BABIES


	269. The Boy in the Jungle

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>He was lost.<p>

That was the only explanation. He was lost. Absolutely, totally, completely lost.

Blaine took a deep breath and tried to think rationally. "I came from over there," he said, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet of the jungle. "So…if I head back that way, then maybe I…"

He froze, his voice trailing off. A leopard crouched on a low-hanging branch about ten yards away, eyeing him greedily.

He took a hesitant step back. The leopard crouched further, inching closer to him. Blaine swallowed hard. He couldn't think of a single plausible way to get himself out of this.

_Here lies Blaine Anderson, _he thought grimly. _Mauled to death by a leopard because he was dumb enough to wander off on his own and get lost._

Suddenly the leopard lunged. Blaine braced himself, his eyes flying shut, but the blow never arrived.

Something screamed, and he opened his eyes to see the leopard in the clearing ahead of him, circling around a boy. For a second he nearly he called out, relieved to see a friend, but he did a doubletake. There was no way it could be anyone he knew.

The boy in the clearing was tall and slim, his bare chest and arms shaped with firm muscle. Faint white scar lines crisscrossed his tanned skin; his golden brown hair was unkempt and curling shaggily around his ears and forehead. He bared his white teeth in a snarl at the leopard, who snapped at him. Blaine flinched, but the fearless boy flung himself forward.

He pressed himself back against the trunk of a tree. He should run. He should get out of there. But he couldn't just leave the boy behind.

He watched the fight in slack-jawed awe, staring helplessly as the boy fought off the leopard. For a second he thought the animal would be run off, but in a split second the leopard flipped the boy onto his back and clawed at his face. The boy screamed, sounding more angry than scared.

In a split second, without realizing what he was doing, Blaine snatched up a good-sized rock and flung it at the leopard. It struck the cat square between the eyes and it stumbled back, yowling, The boy leaped up and stabbed at it, hissing. He stood over the leopard, glaring at him with his fists clenched, and then jerked his head up to stare at Blaine.

Blaine's heart clenched. The boy's eyes were a brilliant shade of blue, flecked heavily with green and gray and gold. Sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, catching the tips of his long lashes and touching them with gold. "You saved me," he breathed.

The boy dropped his weapon and took a hesitant step towards Blaine, his bare feet making no sound. Blaine glanced down and immediately looked back up; the boy was barely covered except for a scrap of cloth around his waist and streaks of dirt and blood over his skin. "Hi," he stammered. "Hi, I'm…I'm Blaine."

He immediately felt stupid.

The boy reached out and poked Blaine's chest, then looked at him quizzically as he placed his hand on Blaine's collarbone. "Do you…do you speak English?" he asked. "You know…English?"

The boy shook his head, his fingertips warm as he stroked the soft hollow of Blaine's throat. "Do you understand me?" he asked.

The boy shrugged, still examining Blaine closely. He pressed a little nearer and toyed with the buttons on his shirt. One of them popped free of the buttonhole and he smiled widely, pleased as a child. He ran his hands over the soft cotton of Blaine's shirt, feeling the seams and the soft bumps of his ribs beneath the fabric, then busily poked at the buttons until they slipped free.

"All right, all right, enough of that," Blaine chided, catching him gently by the wrist as his shirt fell open. The boy frowned, baring his teeth in displeasure. "No, I'm not mad at you, I just think you're…moving a little fast, is all." He smiled a little at his own joke. "What's your name?"

The boy said nothing, busying himself with the cuffs of Blaine's shirt, rolling and unrolling them and smiling to himself. "Stop that," Blaine said softly. He tilted the boy's chin up gently. "Do you understand me at all? Anything?"

The boy blinked.

"Can you talk?" Blaine asked. He gestured at his mouth. "Talk?"

The boy's eyes lit up. He took Blaine's hand and pressed it to his throat, then shook his head. "Oh," Blaine said. "Oh, you can't talk. I'm sorry." He paused and tilted the boy's chin a little further. "You're bleeding."

The leopard's claws had left several long scratches along the side of the boy's cheek and neck, sluggishly dripping blood along his sun-kissed skin. The boy whined, trying to pull away, but Blaine fumbled around in his pocket for his handkerchief. "Here, here, hold still," he soothed, pressing the cloth to the boy's cheek. The slim brunet froze, staring at him with wide childlike eyes. Blaine smiled at him. "You're all right."

"Blaine? Blaine!"

The ground shook with his friends' heavy footsteps and the boy crouched, preparing to tear away. "No, no, stay with me, stay with me," he said, catching the boy around his waist. The boy wailed, biting down hard on his arm. "Ow! Stop it!"

Wes and David burst through the thick foliage. "Oh my god, where have you been, Anderson?" Wes demanded. "We've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Who the hell is that?" David said.

"I don't know," Blaine said, struggling to hold onto the boy. "He saved me from a leopard. I don't know who he is or where he came from. And he can't talk. I don't-"

"Wait," Wes said suddenly. The boy was still struggling in Blaine's grasp; he hadn't acknowledged the two of them yet. Wes eyed the boy curiously, then took a few steps back and clapped his hands once.

"What are you doing?" David asked.

Wes clapped his hands again. The boy still tried to pull away from Blaine. "I don't think he can hear," he said slowly. "I think he's deaf."

"What? Are you serious?" Blaine stammered.

Wes leaned in close and clapped right in front of the boy's face, nearly pinching his nose. The boy spat at him. "Well, what do you think?" he said.

"Where do you think he came from?" David asked, his voice hushed. "There aren't any villages around here."

"A blue-eyed white boy? I seriously doubt he's a native," Wes said. He exhaled slowly. "He's probably a victim of a shipwreck or a plane accident."

"You think?" Blaine said. The boy was shaking in his arms, terrified and furious. "Okay, look, let's get him back to the campsite. We can't just leave him out here."

"Fine," Wes said. "But he's sharing your tent. He's your responsibility now."

"Wes, he's not a puppy," David said dryly.

"We didn't come here to babysit a feral wild child, we came here to research," Wes retorted.

The boy trembled, his bare back pressed against Blaine's chest. "We can argue about this later," Blaine said. He wrapped an arm tightly around the boy's waist and guided him out of the clearing. "Let's just go, okay?"

The boy fought him every step of the way. Blaine had to hold onto him tightly and prod him through the thick trees on their way back. His arms ached from holding onto the boy, and his shins were peppered with bruises from getting kicked. "Stop fighting me!" he said as he dragged the boy into the campsite. He stopped and sighed. "I forgot. You can't hear me."

The boy whined, the sound scraping the back of his throat. "What are you going to do with him?" David asked.

"I don't…I don't really know," Blaine said, bewildered. "I just…how can we help him?"

"Get him cleaned up and fed," David suggested. He glanced over his shoulder. "I'll talk to Wes about it. He's not going to like it if you decide to keep him."

"You make him sound like he's some kind of pet," Blaine retorted.

"Blaine, we've been here for a month with absolutely nothing out of the ordinary," David said. "And now, with three days left till we leave, you find a feral boy that you want to adopt."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "Are you going to help me with him or not?" he asked.

"Nope, he's all yours," David said cheerfully. "Good luck."

The boy whined again, trying to pull away. "Come on," Blaine said. "Let's get you cleaned up." He caught the boy by the hand and squeezed tightly. "Just trust me, all right?"

The boy looked down at their clasped hands and stopped struggling. He followed Blaine obediently to the shoreline near the campsite, holding on tightly.

Blaine smiled encouragingly at him as they approached the pool. "Come on," he said, crooking his finger. The boy hesitated.

Blaine slid out of his socks and shoes, leaving them on the shoreline. They'd hadn't had access to a real shower in the past month that they'd been on the island, and they'd used the small pool for bathing since they got there. He pulled his bag of toiletries out of the small locker they kept on the shorelines and shrugged out of his shirt. "Come on, let's get in the water," he said, holding out his hand again.

The boy hesitantly took his hand again and allowed Blaine to lead him in, the clear blue water splashing around their ankles. He slipped free and slid into the water, gliding effortlessly along the surface. Blaine paused to watch him, admiring the smoothness of his back.

The boy paused, turning in the water to look at him. He tilted his head and splashed at Blaine, laughing. The sound was soft and tuneless, but it made Blaine's heart thunk against his ribs.

"Oh, so that's how you want to do this?" Blaine teased. He followed him into the water, letting it wash over his knees and hips, and splashed back at him, drenching the boy's hair. He shrieked at him. "Hey, you can't dish it out if you can't take it."

The boy swam back towards him, eyeing him hungrily. Blaine leaned back and smiled. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked.

The boy slipped closer to him, drops of water clinging to his lashes and the ends of his hair. He smiled at Blaine, a faint dimple popping in his cheek, and reached out to cup a hand around Blaine's ear. Blaine stayed very still as the boy's questioning fingertips moved across his face, touching his nose and his cheek and his chin. His fingers plucked lightly at Blaine's mouth, pulling his lower lip down. Blaine laughed softly.

"Haven't you ever seen another person before?" he asked. The boy shrugged, reaching up to toy with Blaine's unruly curls.

Blaine caught his hand gently and pressed it to his lips. "Blaine," he said clearly. The boy wriggled in Blaine's grip, but he held firm until the boy's blue eyes were locked on his. "My name is Blaine."

The boy mimicked the movements of his mouth without making any sound. He slipped a little in the water and Blaine caught him around his waist. "It's okay," he said. "I'm going to help you get cleaned up, okay?" He cupped a little water in his hand and drizzled it over the boy's hair; he whimpered and tried to pull away.

"No, it's okay," Blaine soothed. He soaked the boy's thick greasy hair and leaned over to pick up the bottle of shampoo on the shoreline. The boy grabbed at the bottle and scowled. "No, no, it's nice. Here, smell it."

He clicked the bottle open and nudged it towards the boy's nose. The boy sniffed at it, then looked up and smiled. "Yeah, it's nice, right?" Blaine said. He pried the bottle from his hands and squirted a little bit into his palm, then rubbed his hands together till it lathered up. "Here, just hold still, all right?"

To his surprise, the boy submitted easily to Blaine's gentle ministrations. He washed his hair and rinsed it clean, then soaped up a washcloth and scrubbed his skin clean. Under the layer of blood and grime his skin was surprisingly fair, sun-blushed and faintly scarred in spots.

"How did you end up here, hm?" Blaine murmured, rinsing the soap from the boy's arm. "What happened to you?"

The boy laughed again as Blaine rinsed the back of his neck, high and musical but still unsettlingly off, and Blaine helped him out of the water and onto the shore. Kurt shivered a little, water dribbling off his lithe body, and Blaine picked up his towel to drape around him. He looked like a child, hiding in the depths of the towel. His inquisitive fingers smoothed along the edge of the terrycloth.

"Hey, he's looking better," David commented as he walked by.

"He's cleaner, at least," Blaine said, toweling the boy's hair. "Do you have any scissors? He needs a haircut."

"Yeah, I'll get it," David said. "Wes is putting dinner together. He isn't happy about this, but I've talked him into letting us keep your little friend."

"He's not a pet, David," Blaine said. "He's a human being. And we need to take him back to the States. He might have family looking for him."

David sighed. "You take care of him, I'll see if I can talk Wes into it," he said.

The boy dropped the towel in the dirt and started to walk away. "No, no, no," Blaine scolded, catching him around his waist. "Let's get you dressed, all right?"

The boy howled; Blaine gritted his teeth and walked him over to his tent. "I don't know what you're used to, but your junk is sort of…just hanging out there," he said. He zipped the flap shut and rummaged around in his duffel bag for some clean clothes.

"Here," he said, handing him a pair of boxers. "I know, sharing underwear, it's kind of weird, but I figure you need it."

The boy took the boxers and stared at them blankly, then looked up at Blaine, arching an eyebrow. Blaine laughed awkwardly. "Yeah…I guess you don't know how to put them on, do you?" he said. He sidled a little closer. "Here, let me help."

He reached over tentatively and plucked lightly at the strings on the boy's slender hips. The meager covering slid off; the boy regarded him coolly, clearly unashamed. Blaine averted his gaze as he helped him into the boxers. They were at least a size too big, but they would do.

"Here, um…try this," Blaine said, handing him a pair of shorts. The boy took them gingerly and looked at Blaine skeptically. "It's like the boxers, but it goes over…here. Just let me help."

He knelt down and helped him into the shorts. The boy rested a hand lightly on his shoulder and watched in fascination as Blaine pulled the waistband up around his hips and fastened them. His slim fingers plucked at the zipper and button.

"Hey, hey, hey, leave those on," Blaine said. He picked up a mostly-clean button up shirt. "Here. Put your arms out."

The boy frowned. Blaine guided his arms into the sleeves and drew the shirt around his shoulders. "That'll work," he said, pleased. He reached up and touched the boy's damp silky hair. "Now we need to give you a haircut."

He led the boy out of the tent. Wes was waiting outside, fuming. "David says you want to keep it," he said.

"Him," Blaine corrected. "He's not an animal."

"He might as well be!" Wes retorted. "He's feral, Blaine. Who knows how long he's been out here? We're not equipped to take care of him, and cleaning him up and putting him in clothes isn't going to fix anything."

The boy scowled at Wes, leaning towards him. Blaine squeezed his hand lightly in an attempt to calm him down. "He's been separated from his family," he said. "We need to find out how he got lost, and see if we can take him home."

Wes sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Can't we just leave him here and send someone back for him?" he asked.

"No," Blaine said firmly. "I'm not leaving without him. I won't."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

This was inspired by a drawing that Plumey drew and I LOVED it. At some point I suppose I ought to write more of this, like Blaine finding out what happened to Kurt and the root of his trauma, and bringing Kurt back with him and helping him adjust to the modern world, and finding out if Kurt has family somewhere or not.

But can I just say that I love this version of Kurt? Because I do. I love him.


	270. Papercuts

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"Teacher! Teacher!"<p>

The rest of the kindergarten class continued working quietly, but Blaine glanced up from his plastic safety scissors and construction paper to see his littlest classmate standing up on his red plastic chair and holding his hand up. "I got a papercut!" Kurt called. "Teacher, I got a paper cut and it hurth!"

But the teacher was busy talking to her aide, and Kurt plopped back down on the chair, cradling one little hand in the other as a fat tear began to trail down his cheek.

Blaine slid out of his chair and sidled over to Kurt. "Don't cry," he whispered. "What got hurt?"

"My finger," Kurt sniffed, holding out his small hand for Blaine to inspect. There was a thin cut on the fingertip, welling up with a drop of bright blood. "It hurth, and I need a bandaid, but I don't have any bandaidth."

Blaine tugged his handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed gently at Kurt's little finger, then leaned over and kissed it. "Is that better?" he asked.

"Yeth," Kurt said, clearly pleased. "I thtill need a bandaid, though."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

OH MY LORD SOMEONE DRAW THIS PRETTY PLEASE.

(I mean...it is my birthday tomorrow and everything... :P)


	271. In the Bleak Midwinter

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Something clanked loudly and Blaine jumped, startled. The radiator had halted its comfortably noisy clanging, and he realized slowly that the heat must've broken again. He set down his papers and groaned, rubbing his face sleepily with his hands. Sure, they'd gotten a great deal on the rent for their sixth floor walkup, but this was the third time this month that the temperamental heating system had shut down on them. At least it usually happened during the day, so it just meant putting on an extra sweater and heating up some soup or hot chocolate. But it was the middle of the night, and the super probably wouldn't check up on anything until morning.<p>

He yawned as he shuffled his exam review pages back into a messy pile on the coffee table. "Probably should've gone to bed a while ago," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. Kurt had gone to bed two and a half hours ago, kissing him goodnight sleepily with a "come to bed soon?" He'd absentmindedly nodded, fully intending on following him after a few minutes, but time had gotten away from him, apparently.

He wandered over to their little bedroom, jiggling at the handle in an effort to keep the hinges from shrieking. It was a tiny room, barely big enough to hold their bed, but it was theirs and they could afford it.

Kurt curled up tightly in the middle of their bed, fast asleep, hands tucked under his cheek like a child. He was dressed only in his boxer briefs, and somehow he'd managed to kick off all the blankets, leaving him shivering with his knees drawn up to his chest. Blaine smiled at him and eased down beside him, picking up the blankets and letting them fall softly over them both. Kurt settled down quietly, his lips making soft little smacking sounds in his sleep, and Blaine shifted him a little closer, letting Kurt's cheek rest against his shoulder. He stroked Kurt's bare arm gently, feeling his smooth skin warm under the touch and the layers of blankets, and Kurt's shivering stilled as he cuddled up closer to Blaine's comforting warmth. Blaine nuzzled his temple and kissed him on the forehead, thrilling to the touch of Kurt's soft warm exhales against his cheek.

"I love you," he murmured, trailing a fingertip against the line of Kurt's jaw. "I love you so much."

Kurt didn't wake, but he nestled closer, sighing into the crook of Blaine's neck. Blaine dozed off in minutes, his hand pressed to Kurt's back to feel every rise and fall of his slow, deep breathing.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

SOMEONE HELP BECAUSE THE VALENTINE'S DAY EPISODE GAVE ME SO MANY FEELS I CAN'T HOLD THEM.

MY BABIES NEED TO GET BACK TOGETHER AND BE SWEET AND PERFECT.

HALP.


	272. First Steps

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Burt woke up to a small hand patting at his cheek. He squinted and rubbed at his eyes. "Hey, scooter," he mumbled. "Whatcha doin' up?"<p>

His small son babbled something at him, clearly serious, and patted at his face again. Burt smiled and reached for him, but Kurt frowned. "No, no, Daddy," he said. "No, no. No up."

"Yeah, mmkay, baby," Burt said, shifting around on the couch into a more comfortable position. "Where's your-"

His voice trailed off. The tiny boy was toddling away from him, towards the kitchen. He sat up. "Moll?" he called. "Hey, Mollie?"

She stuck her out of the kitchen. "What's-"

He waved his hand at her to be quiet. Kurt toddled a little further before he lost his balance and tumbled over. He immediately burst into tears, thumping his tiny feet on the floor in frustration.

"Oh, honey!" Mollie exclaimed, scooping him up quickly. "Look at you! You're walking!"

Burt struggled off the couch as his wife kissed their toddler several times on the cheek. "Well, he's mobile," he said grimly. "Time to lockdown everything in the house before he gets into it…"

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><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

****I feel like that Kurt was the kind of toddler that, once he started walking, got into absolutely everything. ADORABLE CHILD.


	273. Mugged

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>She picked up the phone without thinking, still absently typing away. "Hello, Isabelle Wright," she said. She frowned and squinted down at her Givenchy watch. Who would possibly want to call her after midnight.<p>

"Hi…um…Isabelle? Are you busy right now?"

"Actually, I should've gone home an hour ago," she said, shutting down her computer. "What's wrong, Kurt? Are you still worried about the layout, because-"

"I got mugged."

She paused. "Are you all right?" she demanded.

"Th…they took my wallet, and my phone, and my…my shoes, and-"

Her intern sounded even younger over the phone, clearly terrified. "Where are you?" she asked, reaching for her coat.

"I'm at the payphone at the subway entrance, at the stop I take to get home," he said. "They took my card, too, and I only had enough pocket change to call somebody, and Rachel didn't pick up, and I'm sorry, I didn't meant to bother you, but I didn't have any money left and I don't know how to get home, and-"

"Hey, hey, it's all right," she said. "I'll come and get you. It's okay."

"Okay," he said in a lost little voice, so far away from the proud, professional attitude he had at work. "I'll be-"

The phone abruptly cut off, blaring the dial tone in her ear, and she quickly switched over to call up her usual taxi service. Within twenty minutes the cab was pulling up to the curb and she was climbing out, wrestling to open her umbrella. She didn't see her young intern anywhere, and for a second she panicked, wondering if the muggers had come back.

"No, I'm not a vagrant and I'm not loitering, I promise! I got mugged and I'm waiting to get picked up."

"You got some ID?"

"No! They took my wallet!"

She rounded the corner to find Kurt shivering in front of a stern-faced police officer, his lips blue with cold and trembling. "Kurt! There you are!" she called, crossing over to him quickly. He turned towards her, his expression changing from exhausted terror to overwhelming relief in a split second.

"You know this boy?" the officer asked.

She never knew what possessed her to say it, but she did, nonetheless.

"I'm his mother," she said, wrapping an arm firmly around his waist. "He called me from a payphone thirty minutes ago and told me what happened, and I came right over to pick him up." Kurt was shaking violently beside her, his bare arms prickling from chillbumps. "And I'd like to take him home before he gets sick from being out here in the rain for so long. Can he come by the station tomorrow to file a report?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am," the police officer said. "You go on home, son."

She made sure to shoot the officer a dirty look as she guided Kurt over to the cab, and to his credit he looked pretty sheepish. "Thanks for coming to get me," Kurt said, his teeth chattering.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's no problem at all," she said. She leaned forward and gave her address to the driver, then reached over to squeeze Kurt's knee. "You're so cold. They took your coat too?"

Kurt nodded. "I can call Rachel as soon as we get to your place and-"

"Oh, no, I don't think so," she said. "It's one o'clock in the morning. I'm not sending you all the way out to Bushwick. You can come stay with me."

He opened his mouth like he was about to argue, then sagged back against the seat. "Thank you," he said.

He looked so much younger than eighteen, his usually impeccably style hair plastered to his forehead and his thin white shirt soaked through. She patted his knee lightly. "A hot shower and some sleep and you'll feel a lot better," she reassured him. "Have you had dinner?" He shook his head a little. "Then a little something to eat, too."

He nodded and rested his forehead against the glass of the window, his eyes sinking closed. Isabelle watched him carefully. Poor thing.

The cab pulled up to her apartment building and she tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He jerked awake, blinking drowsily as he tried to figure out where he was. "Come on, we're home," she said. She took him by the hand and led him into the lobby and into the elevator. He looked worse in the light, his skin bluish and his lips white, and she wondered if she needed to take him to a doctor.

She walked down the hall and unlocked the door before ushering Kurt inside. "The guest room's to the right and there's a bathroom right next to it," she said. "There's some men's clothes in the bureau…you know. From boyfriends."

He sort of smiled and limped down the hallway. His socks were torn through and bloody in spots. She hung her coat and umbrella up quietly, listening for the sound of the shower turning on, and when she was sure he was settled she went into the kitchen. She wasn't much of a cook, but there was some leftover tomato bisque she could heat up for him, and there was some hot chocolate mix in the pantry.

He stumbled out of the bathroom about half an hour later, his borrowed pajamas hanging off his slim frame. A bruise was forming on his cheek and jaw, and he was still limping, favoring his right knee. "Come sit down and eat," she said. "At least a little bit."

He sat down reluctantly, looking exhausted, and took a tiny bit. A lock of hair drooped down over his forehead. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"I will be," he whispered. "It was mostly just…you know. Scary."

"I know," she said. "You'll be all right. And I'm sure we can find you a phone at work that you can use."

"Thank you," he said. "Thanks for…everything."

"No problem," she smiled, and impulsively she reached over and smoothed his hair back.

He looked up at her, looking all of ten years old with his ruffled hair and too-big pajamas. "Isabelle?" he ventured. "Why did you tell him you were my mother?"

She paused. "I don't know, really," she said, laughing a little. "I just thought that officer might take things more seriously if I said I was a family member. I'm sure your real mother would-"

"I don't have a mother," he said. He coughed into his hand. "I mean, I have a stepmother, and I love Carole, she's wonderful, but…my real mother died."

She stopped. "Oh, honey," she said. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"No, it's okay," he said. "She passed away when I was eight." He looked up at her and smiled. "You kind of remind me of her sometimes." He slid down from his chair. "Would it be okay if I borrowed your phone? I kind of want to call my dad, and-"

His cheeks pinked a little. "And Blaine?" she supplied. He nodded sheepishly. "There's a phone on the end table in the living room."

"Thanks," he said, hitching up his sleeve.

She caught him gently by the shoulder and kissed him on the forehead, feather light. "Then go get some sleep," she said. "And I don't want you coming into work until noon, you hear me?"

He smiled at her, sweet and sleepy and angelic, and wandered back to the guest room. Isabelle leaned on the kitchen counter, hands clasped, wondering what life would have been like if she had stayed in Ohio and had a son like Kurt for her own.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

I really love Isabelle! She's so sweet and she seems genuinely fond of Kurt- which I think he needs in the big city. I feel like she had an open door policy and let him come in and talk when he needed advice, and really was a mentor for him. And she was really excited when he was accepted to NYADA, and let him stay at Vogue part time, and she asks him about Blaine and Adam because she thinks it's adorable how caught up Kurt is between the two boys and sometimes she just shakes her head and asks him if he's making wise choices. And she's met Blaine and Burt when they visited (I'm pretty sure I've written a follow up drabble for this one), and she's met Adam when he comes to pick Kurt up after work, and teases Kurt mercilessly about how he's dating an older man and laughs when Kurt blushes.

I just really love the Isabelle and Kurt relationship.

I also think Kadam is adorable. I'm a die-hard Klainer, and I know Kadam is just a pleasant diversion until my babies get back together, but in the meantime I think they're sweet. Adam has sort of become what Blaine was originally- the put-together older guy who mentors Kurt while being genuinely fond of him. And I think it's good for Kurt to be with an older guy, because Adam is older and wiser and well-versed in New York City and its inner workings, and Kurt is still just the starry-eyed small town boy who's secretly still a little anxious sometimes about living in the big city. I feel like Adam is very gentle and affectionate and doesn't push him, and while they're not super close and soulmates like Klaine is, Adam genuinely cares about Kurt and wants him to be happy. And I feel like he'll be happy for Kurt when he gets back together with Blaine.

(Just wait. Ryan Murphy will completely rewrite Adam and make him mean and vicious and vindictive when Kurt breaks up for him.)

(Oh lordy what if he gets physically violent and hurts Kurt oh sweet mother someone stop me.)

(no don't stop me quick someone prompt Kadam things.)


	274. Finn and Lucy

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>"See? Isn't this better than Black Friday?" Lucy said. She took another sip of her peppermint hot chocolate. "All the great deals, but without the running around like crazy or getting trampled in crowd."<p>

"I guess it's okay," Kurt said. "I've always done Black Friday, though…"

Lucy pinched him lightly. "We're sitting in our pajamas in the comfort of your bedroom, without anyone getting hit in the face with a knockoff Prada purse," she reminded him.

He laughed and nestled closer to her side, resting his chin on her shoulder. "All right, so we're almost done shopping, I think," he said. "I've got Blaine, and Carole, and Dad, and Finn, and Francey…god, she's hard to shop for."

"At least you don't have to buy presents for six brothers," Lucy said ruefully. She clicked through the tabs still open on her internet browser. "Now I just have to-"

"Hold on," Kurt interrupted. "Hold on a second. What's that?"

Lucy slammed the laptop shut, nearly pinching Kurt's fingers. "Nothing!" she said, her voice a little too high-pitched.

Kurt grinned. "I know what that is," he said.

"No, you don't."

"That's the newest Madden game."

"It's for…one of my brothers."

"Your brothers don't play the Madden games."

"I thought they might like to try."

Kurt whipped around. "That's what Finn wants for Christmas!" he exclaimed. "You sneaky girl. You're getting a fancy Christmas present for my brother." His jaw dropped. "You have a crush on Finn!"

"No, I don't!" Lucy said, her cheeks turning bright red.

"Yes, you do!" Kurt shrieked. He leaned forward on his hands and knees. "You're in love with my brother!"

"No, I'm not!" Lucy protested. "I'm not! I'm just-"

"FINN AND LUCY, SITTING IN A TREE!"

"Kurt! Stop it!"

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G!"

At this point, Kurt was jumping up and down on the bed. Lucy latched onto his ankle to try to pull him back down.

"Kurt Hummel, you stop that right now!"

"FIRST COMES LOVE!"

"I'm going to send your Christmas present back!"

"THEN COMES MARRIAGE!"

"I'm going to kick you!"

"THEN COMES A BABY IN A BABY CARRIAGE!"

Finn stuck his head in the door. "Cool, who's having a baby?" he asked.

Lucy stomped on Kurt's foot and clamped a hand over his mouth. "No one!" she said. "Hi, um, Finn."

His cheeks turned a little pink. "Hey, Lucy," he said. "Um…Kurt, Mom says she's going grocery shopping, if you need anything."

Kurt mumbled behind Lucy's hand, then pried her fingers off his mouth. "No, I think I'm good," he said.

"Okay," Finn said. He glanced over at Lucy. "Um…nice pajamas. Cute."

Lucy blushed. "Thanks," she said.

Finn ducked out and closed the door, and Lucy sank down cross-legged on the floor. "Oh my god," she moaned.

"Oh, don't be upset, it could be worse," Kurt laughed, flopping down on the bed and rolling onto his stomach. "And actually…it's pretty good. Because guess who helped Finn pick out _your _present?"

Lucy bolted upright. "Oh my god, are you serious?" she shouted. "Tell me everything!"

"Nah-uh, my lips are sealed!" Kurt laughed.

At least until Lucy tackled him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

For the record, Kurt took Finn to Sephora and helped him pick out a perfume, which happened to be Vera Wang Princess, and it was perfect. And Kurt and Blaine spied on them while they exchanged presents and snickered and tattled on them. And lo, all those who heard pronounced it good. And Carole was SO RELIEVED to see her son dating a girl who was neither pretending that Finn was her baby daddy, nor was insanely egotistical and controlling, and when Finn finally asked Lucy out she begged him to keep her around, and he just turned beet red because _mom, do I really have to talk about my love life with you?_

(Somewhere I have a headcanon about how exactly Finn asked her out, but I DON'T REMEMBER IT AT ALL IN THE SLIGHTEST. But yeah, they started dating.)

And so they dated for a while, and when Kurt and Blaine got married Lucy was Kurt's best woman, and it was marvelous, and Kurt and Blaine were SO SURE that Finn was going to propose, and then he didn't, and they were SO DISAPPOINTED (especially since Kurt wanted a new wedding to plan) and it really looked like they were going to end up being That Couple that just dates for fifteen years. And then Lucy offered to be a surrogate for Kurt and Blaine, and gave them their sweet little firstborn, and Finn was so overwhelmed by how amazing and beautiful and wonderful he thought she was that he accidentally blurted out a proposal literally an hour after she gave birth. Of course, she was still on pain meds, so she didn't quite answer, or remember the proposal. So Kurt and Blaine helped him stage a lovely proposal a few weeks later (and helped him pick out a ring- they scolded him for proposing without a ring ready) and she said yes, and they had a lovely lovely wedding (planned by Kurt).

And then they moved to Lexington (close enough for Burt and Carole to see them often) and they were both teachers- Finn was a football coach and athletic director (after learning how _not _to teach from Mr. Schue/McKinley) and Lucy taught theatre arts and French and creative writing, and she was a surrogate one more time for Kurt and Blaine, and she and Finn had three adorable babies of their own (at least one of which is a ginger like their mama) and EVERYONE WAS HAPPY THE END.

Also, all of Finn's former trysts/girlfriends were at the wedding.

Quinn thinks they're adorable and they'll be very happy and babysits their kids sometimes when they're all in Lima at the same time.

Santana warned Lucy about Finn's abilities in bed, to which Lucy smirked and said that she'd already trained him well, to which Santana congratulated her and has ever since been quite supportive.

Rachel tried to sing an emotional song about love and loss at the reception, but Carole unplugged the microphone while Blaine and Francey lured her offstage. (Kurt was too busy showing off his little one and eating baby cupcakes to bother with Rachel.)

tl;dr I ship Finn and Lucy officially now.


	275. Cheerios

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"So we're meeting the new ones today?" Blaine asked, lounging back in his chair.<p>

Quinn examined her fingernails idly. "I heard she only let six get through to the second round of tryouts," she said. "And one of them threw up and was immediately disqualified."

"Ew," Brittany mused.

Coach Sylvester strode into the room, mouth set in a grim line. "All right, pansies, listen up," she said. "I've got four new Cheerios to add to the squad. Get ready to welcome them…and when I say welcome, I mean tell them every horror story you've ever experienced on the McKinley squad."

Becky handed her a clipboard and she peered down it. "All right…Norah Marshall," she said. "Junior, just moved here, seven years of gymnastics experience. Passable, I guess."

A slim brunette walked in, nose stuck in the air. "Yeah, she won't last long with that attitude," Santana snorted under her breath, and Blaine hid a grin.

"Isabella MacGruder, senior, ballerina…she might be useful. And Lucy…I can't pronounce your last name, and I don't care. I'll give you a new one. Lucy Jones. Transfer from some girly private school in Westerville. She'll probably be a flier; she's small enough to throw around."

"Hopefully no one will drop on her head like the last flier," Quinn murmured. "Should we tell her what happened to Shauna?"

"Ooh, let me," Santana grinned.

"And, for our final new Cheerio…we've got Kyle Hunter."

A slim blue-eyed boy peeked into the room. "It's, um, it's Kurt Hummel," he said in a small voice, clinging to the strap of his bag like his life depended on it.

Blaine straightened. He knew Kurt Hummel. Kurt Hummel sat in the back row of every class, pulling top grades without ever saying a word, hiding behind baggy sweaters and oversized, thick-framed glasses. The smartest, quietest, nerdiest kid in school. Kurt Hummel would never-

No, that was Kurt. It had to be. But…

The new Cheerio uniform, crisply pressed, clung to his body, revealing a slim frame that Blaine had somehow never realized he had. His hair was neatly combed out of his eyes for once, smooth and shining, and even though he was still hiding behind his dorky glasses, his skin was perfect. Absolutely flawless.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," Quinn whispered in Blaine's ear, and he jumped, startled.

"I wasn't…I wasn't staring…I mean…"

"All right, muppet babies, start stretching. My four horsemen of the apocalypse, go help the newbies," Coach Sylvester said. "Quinn, take Lucy. Santana, Norah. Brittany, Isabella. And Blaine…take Kermit."

"It's Kurt," Kurt mumbled, ducking his head.

Blaine walked over to him, his palms turning surprisingly damp. Nervous? Was he actually nervous about this? He was just going to teach the new boy how to stretch that was all.

"Hey," he said.

Kurt whipped around, his cheeks turning bright pink. "H-hi," he stammered.

He looked more anxious than Blaine felt- in fact, he looked like he was about to be sick. Blaine smiled at him and squeezed his arm. "Don't be nervous," he said. "Coach Sue's not really that scary, as long as you work hard."

He demonstrated the first stretch, arching his arms over his head, and Kurt clumsily followed his lead. "I didn't know you were interested in cheerleading," he said.

The pink in Kurt's cheeks spread to his ears and the back of his neck. "Well, um, I…I've always been interested in dancing, and I do a lot of yoga, and…well, the guidance counselor told me I needed an extracurricular on my college application," he said. "I mean, I'm only a sophomore, but…" He paused as Blaine bent forward to touch the floor. "I'm talking too much, aren't I? I'm sorry…"

"No, no, you're fine," Blaine smiled. Kurt hastily copied his movement, his ill-fitting black-framed glasses sliding off his nose and clattering to the floor. "Oh, here, let me."

He bent to pick up the glasses and held them out towards Kurt, then froze. Kurt's eyes were beautiful- wide and brilliant, bright blue-green with flecks of gold, fringed with thick lashes. He didn't even realize he was staring until he saw the blush on Kurt's cheeks turn from soft pink to scarlet. "Uh…here," he stammered, thrusting the glasses in Kurt's hands.

"Thanks," Kurt whispered, sliding the glasses onto his nose.

The other Cheerios started moving into more complicated stretches and Kurt looked around wildly, clearly unsure what to do. "Here, just lean back," Blaine said, setting his hand at the small of his back. "It's okay. I've got you."

Kurt leaned back, still hesitant. Blaine splayed his fingers over his slim back, feeling the bones in his back jutting out. He was awfully thin…but incredibly flexible. His shirt rode up a little in the front, revealing his slim flat stomach. He swallowed hard, then helped Kurt straighten up.

"You know…I think it's going to be pretty fun being on the Cheerios together," Blaine said, and Kurt smiled at him, sweet and shy.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

UGH YES GIVE ME ALL THE BADBOY!CHEERIO!BLAINE AND NERDY!SHY!KURT! I have such an innocent!Kurt kink it's not even funny. I love it when Kurt's sweet and shy and innocent and babyfaced. I just want to snuggle him and kiss him and cuddle him. And so does Blaine. Badboy!Blaine has a sudden, inexplicable, mighty need to shed his badboy James Dean persona and unlock all the longlost love in his heart and give it to the shy lonely sweetheart of a cupcake angelface boy.

_AND THEN HE SHALL FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM, AND VICE VERSA, AND LO, IT SHALL BE PERFECTION._


	276. The Naptime War

"Is he feeling any better?" Mollie asked anxiously as she set her bag down. "I can hear him crying. Do his ears still hurt?"

"A little, I think," the babysitter said. "He's been restless, though. I put him down for a nap an hour ago and tried all the things you told me to try, bur he still wouldn't settle down."

Mollie took off her coat and draped it over the back of a chair. "I wish I could have stayed home with him," she said. "I usually do when he's sick, but I couldn't get a sub today." She kicked off her shoes. "Thank you so much for watching him."

"It's no problem, Mrs. Hummel," the sitter smiled, but Mollie was already heading up the stairs.

"Kurt?" she called. "Kurt, baby, Mama's home."

Kurt peeked out from behind his bedroom door. "Mommy?" he hiccupped.

Mollie knelt down and held out her arms. "Sweetheart, why aren't you in bed?" she asked, but her four-year-old son flung himself onto her lap. "You were supposed to go to sleep."

"Won't," he sobbed, and she hugged his feverish little body closer. "My earth hurt, Mommy. And my nothe is thtuffed up."

"I know," she soothed. She rubbed his hot back. "What will help you sleep, KK?"

"Don't wanna thleep," he said petulantly, locking his arms tight around her neck. "Not thleepy, I'm jutht thick."

She straightened and picked him up. "I bet I can get you to fall asleep," she said.

"Nah-uh," he said, shaking his head against the side of her neck, and she laughed, kissing the side of his head.

"You might be stubborn, Kurt, but I don't think you're going to win this particular fight," she said. "Come on."

Kurt fought to stay awake, sniffling loudly and rubbing over and over again at his brilliantly red nose, but she pulled out all the stops. Rocking him in her arms, singing to him, reading his favorite books, making him a mugful of warm milk (even with a little bit of honey and vanilla in it). And sure enough Kurt got sleepy, his head resting on her shoulder and his eyes drooping closed, but still- he wouldn't fall asleep.

Finally she carried him down the hall to her room and laid him down on her bed. "We're going to take a nap, okay?" she said.

"Not thleepy," he mumbled, wiping his runny nose with the back of his hand. She gave him a tissue for him to blow into, then scooted him over so she could lie down beside him.

"I bet you'll fall asleep," she said. She kissed his warm forehead. "I bet you a cupcake you'll fall asleep in ten minutes."

"No," he whined. He scooted away, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. "Not thleepy. And now I wanna cupcake. A vanilla one, pleathe."

She laughed into his hair. "Pouty little prince," she teased, pinching his cheek, and Kurt stuck his lower lip out farther. "I know what's going to help."

She got up, tucking him in under the quilt, and walked into the bathroom. The Vicks' VapoRub was on the top of the medicine cabinet, out of Kurt's reach (he'd only gotten into it once, but he had managed to drink a sizable portion of Pepto-Bismol ("it was pink, Mommy, it looked yummy!") before they caught him, and they really didn't want a repeat performance.)

Kurt pulled the blankets over his face when she walked back in. "No, Mommy, it thmellth!" he complained, his voice stuffy and muffled.

She pulled the blankets back and unscrewed the top of the little plastic jar. "But you'll feel better, remember?" she said. She tucked his tee shirt up gently and began to rub the gel over his chest, smoothing it in gentle circles. Kurt sniffled hard again, wiping at his runny nose, but his breathing began to ease a little bit. She started humming lightly, running through every Beatles and Disney song she could think off of the top her head, and Kurt's head tilted on the pillow, his eyes fluttering shut. Within seconds he let out the tiniest of baby snores, his mouth open. Mollie closed the jar and set it aside, then bent to kiss his forehead.

"Mama won," she teased, but Kurt mumbled something in his sleep and reached up for the shoulder of her dress, latching on tightly. She laid down carefully beside him, smoothing her hair over her shoulder to keep it from falling in her sleep, and tugged him beside her. Kurt snuggled up to her, still clutching her dress, and she hugged him close.

"Love you, sweet boy," she murmured into his bright hair.

There were things she should be doing- lesson plans to write, floors to vacuum, dinner to start. But her son wanted her. And that was more important.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

ALKSDFJDSLKJKFL. CUDDLY BABY KURT FEELS.


	277. Prank Gone Wrong Part I

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Puck, I don't think this is a good idea," Finn said warily.<p>

"Oh, come on, Hudson, it'll be hilarious," Puck snickered. "Besides, we always pull a prank to welcome new guys to the football team. We can't let Hummel just sneak by." He grinned. "Besides, it's not that bad. He's so used to us sticking him in dumpsters…he's not gonna expect it when we put him on top of the cabinet in the choir room! It'll be hysterical."

Finn sighed. "I guess he said.

"He ought to be in the locker room," Puck said, shoving the door open with his elbow. "We'll have to-"

Finn froze. The other members of the McKinley football team filled the locker room, all of them shouting and cheering. Kurt stood in the middle of the room on a narrow bench, stripped down to his boxer briefs, his face deathly pale as he shivered. He was standing on one leg, wavering badly, with a half-empty jar of peanut butter in one hand and a spoon in the other.

"You got to stay on one leg, Hummel," one of the players warned. "You really want to get paddled again?"

"Please don't make me eat anymore," Kurt begged. Azimio took the spoon from his hand, scooped up a generous amount, and shoved it in Kurt's mouth.

"What the hell are you doing?" Puck demanded. "This isn't what we agreed! We were just going to-"

"That was boring," Karofsky shrugged, tapping the paddle against his palm "We figured this would be a little more interesting."

"This is sick," Finn snapped.

Kurt lost his balance, putting his other foot down to keep from falling over, and the players hooted at him. "That's the fourth time, Hummel, that's four swats!" Azimio said. Karofsky grinned and took a step towards him.

The door to the locker room swung open behind them. "Hey, guys, Coach is coming down, he said-" Mike started to say, but he froze. "Oh my god, what are you doing?"

"Shit, shit, somebody get him out of here!" someone shouted.

Finn reached out to grab him, but someone else got to him first. His fingers brushed against the back of Kurt's thigh, and then Kurt was pulled away, and he stumbled back, and when he looked up Kurt was gone.

Puck grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him towards the door. "C'mon!" he said. "We've got to get him!"

Finn ran behind him, his breath catching in his throat. He'd seen hazing like that from the team before, and yeah, sometimes they got kind of rough, but this was different. This was dangerous. And he'd seen Kurt's face. Kurt was scared.

They burst into the back parking lot just in time to see the team's fullback slamming the lid down on his trunk. "Shit," Puck said, running for his pickup in the rain.

"Shouldn't we-"

"He's gonna drive off, Hudson, we don't have time!"

Finn climbed up into the front passenger seat of Puck's falling-apart pickup, slamming the door seconds before Puck took off after the other car. They didn't talk, either of them, staring through the driving rain, and Finn dug his fingers into the ratty upholstery of his seat, his mind a frantic blank.

The other car pulled over on the side of the road, facing an empty field. Puck gritted his teeth and slammed on the brakes, parking directly in front of the sedan. "What the hell, Stephen?" he shouted as he climbed out of the cab, but Finn jumped out and ran for the trunk of the car, his heart thudding in his chest.

He thumped on the closed trunk and his heart skipped a beat at the faint startled whimper he heard from inside. "Kurt, it's me, it's Finn!" he shouted. "Are you okay?"

"…Finn?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's Finn, are you all right?"

He leaned in closer, straining to hear. "I don't feel good. I want to get out. Get me out, Finn. Get me out!"

Kurt sounded awful, young and terrified, and Finn slammed his hand down on the trunk in frustration. "Give me your keys!" he shouted.

"What?" Stephen stammered.

Puck rammed his elbow in Stephen's throat. "The keys to your car, asshole!" he shouted.

"They're in the ignition, they're in the ignition!"

Finn scrambled for the driver's seat and fumbled at the steering column until the keys slipped loose. He could hear Kurt trying not to cry, his voice high-pitched and tight, and it sounded like he was on the edge of falling apart.

"Kurt, it's okay, it's okay, I'm getting you out," Finn called, wrestling hopelessly with the lock. The keys slipped out of his hand and he grabbed at them hastily, fingers tangling in the wet grass. Rain dripped steadily down the back of his neck, soaking the inside of his varsity jacket. Kurt was crying in earnest now, screaming and beating his fists against the trunk, and Finn jammed the key in the lock and hoisted it open.

Kurt was lying on his back, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms thrown protectively over his face. He looked so small curled up like that, and he was still screaming in panic.

"Kurt, hey, it's all right," Finn said. He slid an arm under Kurt's shoulders and the other under his knees, hoisting him up gently. "God, you're light." Kurt kicked at him sharply, his arms still covering his face. "Ow! God! Kurt, it's okay!"

"I'm gonna throw up," Kurt sobbed. "I'm…allergic, and-"

He leaned over and vomited into the wet grass. "Wait, Kurt, what are you allergic to?" Finn asked, struggling to hold onto him.

"Peanuts," he gasped. "I'm allergic and they-"

He threw up again, his shoulders giving a sharp twitch, and Finn winced. "They made you eat half a jar, didn't they?" he said.

Kurt nodded, covering his mouth with his hands. His lips were beginning to turn blue and his body was slippery with cold rain. "Puck, call 911," Finn shouted. "Come on!"

He carried Kurt over to Puck's pickup and sat down in the passenger seat of the cab, trying to shield the younger boy from the rain. Kurt was shaking badly, whining through his teeth. Bruises were darkening on his temple and cheek, and his hands were scraped, his fingernails torn half off.

"Is he okay?" Puck shouted, one hand gripping tight to Stephen's arm with one hand and holding up his cell phone in the other.

"He's freaking out," Finn called back. "He's freaking out and throwing up, and…"

Kurt gave a fierce shake, like he was about to have a seizure or something, and Finn held onto him tightly. He leaned back, fumbling around in Puck's car, and pulled out a mostly-clean fleece blanket that he knew Puck liked to keep around for his dates. "We're going to get you help, okay?" he said, wrapping the blanket around him tightly. "You're gonna be okay."

Kurt was crying through his clenched teeth, his whole body trembling. Finn pulled him closer, letting him bury his face in his chest. "Wanna go home," he wheezed. "Please. I wanna go home."

"I know," Finn said. "You'll be okay, I promise."

Kurt was still crying, and Finn wracked his brain for something that might possibly comfort him. He tried to think of what his mom might do, if she was there instead of him.

Kurt sobbed into Finn's chest, his bare skin cold and covered in goosebumps, and Finn hugged him helplessly. "Sh, it's okay," he soothed, massaging the back of Kurt's neck. "It's okay. I'm gonna protect you, all right? Nobody's going to hurt you again."

Kurt clung to him desperately, his fingers clutching the front of Finn's jacket in a death grip. Finn rocked him against his chest. A few months ago, he wouldn't have dared to do this. In fact, he might've been a part of this. But now he knew Kurt. He'd sung with him, he'd spent time with him. He'd taught him how to kick a football. Kurt was a good kid. And he didn't deserve this.

Sirens began to blare in the distance and he held Kurt tightly. "Help's almost here," he said. "You're going to be okay, Kurt. I promise."

The ambulance roared up beside them, lights flashing, and suddenly everything moved too far. They pulled Kurt away from him and he sat there numbly, his jacket soaked through, while the paramedics worked over Kurt's prone body and Puck yelled at the cops.

"Son, do you know what's going on?" an EMT asked.

He stumbled over the story, trying to explaining as best as he could. They wrapped Kurt up tightly in blankets and strapped him to a gurney before snapping an oxygen mask over his face. "Can I go with him?" he blurted out.

"Sure," the paramedic said. "Come on."

Finn climbed into the ambulance beside Kurt, reaching for his hand. His skin was ice cold and clammy, his fingers limp. The ambulance took off, sirens blaring, and Finn swallowed hard.

Kurt gazed up at him, his eyes foggy, and Finn tried to smile. He looked so young and so, so scared.

He bent over the younger boy and smoothed his soaked hair back. "You're going to be okay," he repeated. "I'll call your parents when we get to the hospital and they'll come and fix it."

"Just dad," Kurt said. "Mom died. But…but I want my mom."

Finn tried to imagine what it would be like to be scared and sick in the back of an ambulance, without the hope of his mother coming to make things okay, and it made bile rise in the back of his throat.

He bent over Kurt and pressed his cheek against his. "It's okay," he whispered, feeling the chill of Kurt's round cheek. "I'll stick with you, Kurt. I won't leave you alone."

Kurt didn't say anything, but he finally seemed to relax, squeezing Finn's hand limply.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

MY BABY.


	278. Prank Gone Wrong Part II

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Finn shifted his weight uncomfortably. Hospitals sucked. They sucked ass. And he didn't know what to do.<p>

The ambulance raced down the road to the emergency room at record speed, sirens blaring and lights flashing. He held Kurt's hand the whole way with both of his, holding on so tightly that his knuckles turned white and he lost feeling in his fingers. And he had to watch Kurt slip into unconsciousness, lips blue behind the plastic oxygen mask, the paramedics working over him in an efficient frenzy. They kept talking about shock, he's going into shock. It might have been Kurt who was sick, but Finn felt like he almost knew what it was like as he sat there numbly, watching the smaller boy shake under the blankets.

They pulled up to the emergency room with a sudden stop; Finn lurched and put a hand out to keep his balance. The paramedics unloaded the gurney, and Kurt didn't seem to notice at all. He tried to stay close to him, his hip bumping over and over again on the side of the stretcher, following at their heels until they got into triage.

Kurt's eyes opened as they lifted him onto the narrow bed. He gazed around at his surroundings, clearly unsure of what was going on, and he gave a terrified cry.

Finn grabbed his hand again; his skin had gone ice cold. "It's okay," he said. "You're at the hospital, you're gonna be okay."

Kurt was breathing too fast, his narrow chest heaving, and suddenly his eyes rolled back in his head and his whole body began to shake.

Finn got shoved out of the way, pressed back towards the wall, and he stood there staring blankly, his breath caught in his throat. The doctors blocked his view, but he caught a glimpse of the younger boy in the throes of a seizure, his eyes blank and his body limp. He felt like he was going to throw up.

The door banged open and a broad-shouldered man in a baseball cap pushed his way in. A nurse tried to block his way. "Sir, you can't-"

"I'm his father," the man barked, and he shoved his way through to be beside his son. Finn rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling slowly. He'd met Burt Hummel once, at Kurt's first football game, and he was pretty sure that if he was here, things were going to turn out okay.

Burt leaned over Kurt, taking his small soft hand in his big rough one. "It's okay, kiddo, I'm here," he said. He smoothed Kurt's damp hair back from his pale face. "It's all gonna be okay."

Kurt kept seizing, his whole body trembling and shaking, and the doctor injected his bare thigh with something, stabbing him with a long needle, as the nurse hooked him up to an IV. Burt held his son's hand to his heart, both hands cupping his twitching fingers. rubbing his thumb over his clammy skin, and slowly Kurt's body began to still. His bare chest heaved and Burt placed his hand over his heart, as if checking to make sure that it was still beating.

Kurt opened his eyes slowly, dazed and disoriented. He looked like he was about to cry.

Burt tilted his chin, making him look at him. "It's all right, little boy," he soothed. "You hear me? Everything's gonna be all right now."

Kurt still looked terrified, as if he didn't believe his father was there, and Burt pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Don't cry, Kurt," he said, his voice a little too forceful. Finn could hear the fear lurking behind it. "You don't need to cry. It's okay. Daddy's here. Daddy's got you."

Kurt sagged back, limp and exhausted, his head tilting drunkenly, and Burt kept stroking his hair. The doctor talked to him quietly and Finn ducked his head, trying not to listen, but he still kept catching words like "anaphylactic shock" and "trauma" and "extensive bruising."

They kept Kurt in that little room until he was quiet and calm, the medicine easing the pain and helping him breathe, and he was already falling asleep when the doctor said he could be moved. Finn looked down at his shoes, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his jacket, and when Burt placed a hand on his shoulder he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"The Puckerman kid called me," Burt said. "He told me what happened."

Finn swallowed hard, his mouth dry as dust. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Hummel, we had no idea-"

"I know," Burt said. "I'm grateful to you, kid. You saved my son's life." He exhaled slowly, his face suddenly looking haggard and old. "Kurt's all I've got. If I'd have lost him…"

His voice trailed off and Finn shifted his weight uncomfortably. "They're going to keep him overnight at least, longer if he needs it," he said. "But I've got some phone calls to make and some asses to kick. Those bastard aren't going to get away with this. They almost killed my boy, I'm gonna-"

He halted in midsentence, struggling to keep his composure and clearly failing. "You sit with Kurt till I get back," he said, squeezing Finn's shoulder. "I don't want him to be alone, in case he wakes up. I'll be up as soon as I'm done."

Finn nodded silently, half nervous and half proud be trusted, and he headed up to pediatrics to find Kurt's room. The nurse frowned at him when he asked for the number.

"Are you family?" she asked.

"His, um...older brother," Finn lied. He stuck his hands in his back pockets awkwardly, but the nurse just directed him down the hall. Finn checked the numbers carefully, a lump in his throat.

He found the younger boy still fast asleep, changed into a hospital gown and tucked snugly into his bed. There were wires and tubes and monitors everywhere, and it made his stomach abruptly tighten. It was bad enough to know how sick the kid was. It was worse to know how it had happened.

He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, trying not to bother Kurt, a lump rising in his throat. Kurt looked so young, barely even twelve instead of fifteen, his cheeks still a little round like a child's and his hair tousled. He reached cautiously for Kurt's hand.

"I'm gonna make sure that nobody at school hurts you, okay?" he said. He balanced Kurt's fingers gingerly on his, as if he was afraid he might break. "Because this isn't fair. You don't deserve this."

Kurt roused a little, opening his red-rimmed eyes just a bit. "Dad?" he mumbled.

Finn couldn't speak. He squeezed Kurt's hand helplessly.

Kurt scooted towards him, limp and uncoordinated. "'m cold," he murmured. "'m tired. Can we go home?"

"Not yet," Finn said. "They want you stay awhile, okay? Just to make sure you're all right."

Kurt shivered and scooted a little bit closer to lean his cheek on Finn's thigh. "'m cold," he whimpered again.

Finn leaned over, trying to keep his balance, and grabbed the fleece blanket at the end of the bed. He draped it over Kurt, tucking him in snugly, and Kurt nestled his head on his knees, exhausted and boneless, his hands curled up by his cheeks like a child.

Finn stayed there for a long time, till his legs had fallen asleep and his back ached, letting Kurt sleep with his head on his lap, stroking his fingers through his hair as if he could soothe his conscience by comforting him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

FURT IS PERFECT THE END.


	279. Graveside Visit

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Burt knelt down and gently brushed the light layer of dirt and snow from the slightly-weathered white slab that marked his wife's resting place. He smiled a little to himself as he traced the hollow letters of her name with his thumb.<p>

"Hey, little girl," he said, smoothing out the brittle grass and setting his tiny bunch of yellow rosebuds tenderly beside the headstone. "Sorry the flowers are so dumb looking. Kurt's not here to help me pick them out."

He settled back on the cold ground and sighed heavily. "He's doing okay, though, I think," he said. "New York's been good for him. He's got that internship at the magazine place and his boss really likes him, and he loves being in the city. You know…around people who…who are more like him."

He sighed heavily. "He's homesick, though, and won't talk about it, and he's still making himself sick over that boyfriend of his," he said. "Ex-boyfriend, I guess, but…still. He's working too hard trying to get past that on his own and get into school, and…well, if you were around, I think things would be a little easier for him."

He pulled off his hat and ran his hand over his head. "I'm about to make things even harder for the poor kid, too," he said. "Moll, I…I've got cancer."

It was the first time he'd said it aloud since the doctor gave him the news.

"I'm telling Carole and Finn tonight, but…I don't know how to tell Kurt," he said. "I just…I can't, Mollie. I can't call him up and tell him that I…"

His voiced trailed off. "They keep telling me that things are as best as they could be, under the circumstances," he said. "But it doesn't change the fact that I've got cancer, and anything could happen, and if something should happen to me, nothing's going to fix the fact that I'll be leaving my kid all on his own."

He rubbed his forehead. "He's not going to be all alone, I know that," he said. "Carole and Finn, they'll do whatever they can for him. He'll always be part of their family. But at the same time, he'll have lost his mother and his father. And he doesn't open up to people, you know that. It's hard enough for me to get him to talk sometimes, and I'm his own father. So what's going to happen to him when I'm gone?"

He knotted his fingers together. "What would you do, Moll?" he asked. "If the roles were switched and I was there and you were here…what would you do?"

He tried to picture it, what it would be like if his pretty young wife (she was always young and pretty still when he thought of her) had to be the one to tell their son that she was sick. He could see her sitting Kurt down, holding his hands tightly in hers, smiling in reassurance as she told him the bad news but promised that things would be okay.

"I need to go up and tell him in person, don't I?" he mused. "He's not coming home for Christmas, you know. I should go up and spend Christmas with him instead. Surprise him."

He smiled to himself. Mollie would have done that.

And then his smile faded. He was going to have to tell his son that he was sick. And he was going to have to see that look on his boy's face- that awful, frozen expression with his eyes losing color and his skin going white. He'd had to see that too many times before.

"God, Mollie, what am I going to do?" he whispered.

He rested his forehead against his clasped hands. It was starting to sink in. He'd thought it had sunk in already, but no. Before he'd only thought about hospital visits, who would run the shop, what to do with all this congressman stuff, making sure that Carole was going to be all right and that their insurance was in order. But he hadn't even thought about Kurt, and it made his chest ache.

Kurt was going to have to go through this too. Kurt would want to know about every doctor's appointment, every possible treatment, every chemo session. Kurt would try to fly down to be there as much as possible, sacrificing his schoolwork and his internship in order to be with him. Kurt would run himself ragged, forgetting to eat, worrying too much to sleep.

Who was going to take care of Kurt?

He couldn't trust that roommate of his to keep an eye on him; the silly girl couldn't think beyond her next dance lesson. Finn would do what he could, but there wasn't much he could do from Ohio- and besides, the kid couldn't focus on more than one thing at a time. Carole would try, but she didn't know how to read Kurt properly yet, how to get past all those little quirks and barriers of his. And Blaine…

…well, if this had been just a few months earlier, things would have been a whole lot easier.

"Blaine could have been there for him if he hadn't been so stupid," he said aloud. He sighed heavily and leaned his elbows on his knees. "You remember me telling you about that, right? Yeah, of course you do." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I know he feels bad about it. I've seen him moping around, looking pathetic. Damn kid deserves it. I mean, he told Kurt to leave, and then once he left…he broke my boy's heart."

But even as he said it, he could see the expression on Blaine's face when he came to the garage to tell him himself what he had done. And he'd read the riot act to him right then and there, raking him up one street and down the other. But somehow he'd been kind of sad about it. Blaine had been so good for Kurt, bringing him out of that protective little shell of his where he kept his real feelings. The boys probably thought he didn't know anything, but he'd overheard enough hushed conversations and seen enough surreptitiously hidden tears to know how close they were. Kurt trusted Blaine. He really did.

"Kurt told me they're talking again," he offered, his breath puffing in the chilly air. "They're still not really talking too much, not like they used to, but…still. Talking." He exhaled slowly. "Kurt's probably gonna call him the second he finds about…about all this. And he…"

His voice trailed off. He could practically see Mollie making that face of hers, the one that said "I already know and I'm just waiting for you to catch up-" chin tilted down, one eyebrow arched, one corner of her mouth turned up. Kurt made that same face all the time, since his toddler days.

"Blaine could help Kurt," he realized.

_There you go, big guy, _he could hear Mollie saying. _Now you've caught on._

"Oh, come on," he said. "I'm no matchmaker. I still can't figure out how I managed to catch you. And with these boys…I don't know. I don't think even you could get them to-"

But he paused.

"You would take Blaine with you to New York, wouldn't you?" he said.

He sat there for a minute, a grin slowly forming. "That's exactly what'd you do," he said. "You know what? I'm going to plan this just the way you would."

He hadn't even realized it had started to rain until something cold dripped down his neck. "Dammit," he sighed. "I'd better head in."

He kissed the tips of his fingers and touched Mollie's named lightly. "I still love you, little girl," he said. "Always will. And you keep an eye on our baby, okay?"

He stood up, wincing a little at the stiffness in his knees, and walked back towards his truck, hands in his pockets, as he started putting his thoughts in order.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand this is my headcanon about how the Kurt storyline in the Christmas episode came to be.


	280. I Hate Today

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>As Kurt tumbled backwards into the snow, he didn't experience his life flash before his eyes. No, all he could do was shriek "I hate today, I hate today, I hate today!"<p>

The sky had looked fairly ominous when he got up that morning, but with no close or delay warnings on the television, he and Finn had headed off to school and their parents headed off to work. All day, the sky was a strange grayish yellow, but nothing happened. At three o'clock, Finn went to football practice while Kurt drove home, texting Blaine at traffic lights in preparation for their date that night.

And then it hit.

It was _the _storm. The storm of the century. The kind of storm that people would say "remember that one year, with that one storm?"

It was a bona fide blizzard.

Kurt was doing all right for the most part. Finn was stranded at school and his parents were stranded at their jobs, and he was just a little worried about Blaine driving all the way to Lima in the storm. Besides, it was warm and cozy inside.

Until the power went out.

He was sprawled out on the couch under a plaid fleece blanket, watching 30 Rock on Netflix, when all of a sudden the lights flickered once and went dark. There went the light, the television…

…the heat.

Kurt had bolted upright, staring into the darkness of the living room. His dad usually managed the breaker box when the power went off, but that was at the old house. There was no telling where the breaker box might be hiding in the new one.

After prowling blindly around the house with no luck, he had finally jammed his feet into a pair of Uggs from three winters ago (when he was young and misguided and trying to be popular), shrugged on his dad's fleece coat, and dug out a flashlight from the kitchen junk drawer. Going out in the storm was the last thing he wanted, but he also didn't want to hide in a dark, cold house all by himself.

He had tromped around the house with his flashlight in his hand until he found the breaker box tucked away on the east side. It had taken a little finagling with the frozen-shut door while he held the flashlight in his mouth, but at last it swung open. He had checked through for any broken fuses and flipped through the switches, to no avail.

Frustrated, he'd slapped the breaker box closed, only to lose his balance, his feet sliding across the slick iced-over grass. And as he tumbled back, arms flailing like windmills, all he could do was shriek.

Kurt slammed back hard into the snow, twisting his knee and dragging his palms across the ground in an effort to slow his fall. He stared up at the dark gray-green sky, gasping as he tried to regain the wind that had been knocked out of him.

"I hate today," he said weakly.

Once his breath came back and the world stopped spinning, he grabbed onto the cold sharp grass in handfuls and tried to pull himself into a sitting position, wincing. Snow soaked through his clothes, and he was really regretting the decision to not wear gloves.

_Just get back inside, _he thought to himself. _Get back inside. Shelter without heat is better than being trapped in the cold._

He latched onto the side of the house in an effort to pull himself to his feet, but he hissed in pain as he put weight on his throbbing knee. "Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea," he yelped.

He managed to pull himself up and drag himself a little ways down, holding on tightly to the freezing cold siding of the house. But then the ground sloped up and he lost his footing again, falling down hard on his butt.

"Oh, god," he groaned, stretching his sore knee experimentally. His whole body was cold and achy at this point, and he leaned against the side of the house with a heavy sigh.

"Kurt? What are you doing?" he heard Blaine call.

He rubbed his stinging eyes with the back of his hand as the wind whipped past. "Trying to fix stuff," he called back.

Blaine waded through the thickly falling snow towards him, shoulders hunched. "Why didn't you come back inside?" he asked. "It's freezing!"

"I would've gone back if I could," Kurt retorted. "Come help me up."

Blaine took him by the arms and helped him to his feet. "What did you do?" he asked.

"Nothing, really, I just slipped," Kurt sighed, gripping Blaine's elbows tightly.

"You're freezing," Blaine said. "What have you done, Kurt Hummel?"

"I'm fine, I- ow! Ow! Mother of god, ow!" Kurt yelped. "I think I did something to my knee."

Blaine sighed heavily. "Let's get you inside," he said. "God, why are you so accident prone?"

"I have no idea, but this is probably going to give me a bad cold too, isn't it?"

"Most likely." Blaine kissed him on the temple as he helped him up the steps. "It's okay, though. I still like you."

Within fifteen minutes Kurt found himself back on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket with an ice pack on his sore knee, as Blaine poked around at the fireplace. "You're sure you know what you're doing?" Kurt asked skeptically.

"I do, I do," Blaine said. He set the poker aside with a satisfied grin. "There. See? Perfect." He pushed himself up and brushed off his hands. "How's your knee?"

"I won't be dancing any time soon," Kurt said. "But I think I'll live."

"You'd better," Blaine smiled. "Hey, scoot over."

Kurt obeyed, making room for Blaine on the couch, and settled against his chest, draping an arm around his waist. "So you'll keep me warm till the heat comes on, right?" he said.

"We'll keep each other warm," Blaine promised, nuzzling his ear.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<br>**

I cockblocked again, didn't I?


	281. Shorn

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"I don't understand why you're so upset about Brittany's hair gel ban," Kurt said, resting his chin on his hands.<p>

"I'm just very…particular," Blaine said as he drew his comb carefully through his hair.

"No kidding," Kurt laughed. He scooted forward on Blaine's bed and sat up, crossing his legs. "If you have to have your hair just so, why don't you just cut it short instead of spending an hour every morning gelling it into submission?"

Blaine paused. "I, um…I don't like having my hair short," he said.

"Why not?" Kurt asked. "Francey showed me your old photo albums and there's some pictures of you with short hair when you were about thirteen or so. You were adorable. Why don't you like it?"

Blaine set his comb down and flexed his fingers thoughtfully against the side of his desk. "Because…when I got my hair cut off, it was because some older kids…put gum in it. A lot of it."

He didn't dare turn around to look at Kurt. "I did everything I could to try to get it out, but nothing worked. My mom had to cut it all off. And I hated it. Every time I looked at my reflection, I just…it reminded me." He cleared his throat. "So…I'm just…I don't want to cut my hair. I'd rather spend time fixing it the way I want than to have it cut off."

He didn't glance back at Kurt, but he felt his warm arms wrap around his waist, and Kurt's soft cheek pressed against the back of his neck. Blaine squeezed his hands, tangling their fingers together, and exhaled slowly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<br>**

feeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee eeeels.

the end.


	282. Cheating

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"It's five o'clock," Burt said, already reaching for the phone. "Kurt's about to call. Do you want to answer, or should I?"<p>

"I answered last week, you take a turn," Mollie said. She reached for the television remote just as the phone jangled cheerfully in Burt's hand.

"Hey, scooter," Burt said. "How're you doing?"

She dialed down the volume on the television and tapped her fingertip against the page of her book, watching Burt grin as he listened to their son. But his smile began to fade.

"Uh-huh," Burt said, crossing his arm over his chest. "Uh-huh." Mollie paused, watching his mouth press into a thin line. "Kurt? Are you all right, buddy?"

She leaned in close enough to hear. "_Um…could I talk to Mom, please?"_

"Sure, sure," Burt said. "I'll talk to you later, okay? Love you."

He handed the phone over to Mollie with a slight shake of his head, and she steeled herself for whatever her little boy was about to tell her- lost his job, got mugged, just maxed out his credit card on Fifth Avenue. "Hi, sweetheart," she said. "What's-"

"Blaine cheated on me."

Mollie choked. "What?"

"Oh god, it's his credit card, isn't it?" Burt mumbled into his hand.

Mollie shook her head, waving her hand at him to be quiet. "Are you sure?" she asked, standing up to pace the living room. "Are you okay?"

"Mom…I…Mom, we broke up. I think. I think we broke up."

And then Kurt lost it. Mollie covered her mouth, listening to him sob out the whole story. It made her stomach turn to hear him sob like that, knowing she couldn't fix it. She couldn't even be there to hug him or do any of the things she used to do when he was small and he came running with all of his little boy problems. She couldn't do anything but listen.

Burt leaned over her shoulder and she waved him away. "I'll tell you later," she mouthed.

Later was much, much later, it turned out, after she had listened to Kurt sob and yell until he'd worn himself out. She soothed him the best she could from hundreds of miles away, talking him into making some warm milk and sending him off to bed after he'd cried himself hoarse. Burt stayed close by, listening the best he could but barely understanding.

"All right, sweetheart, are you in bed now?" she asked.

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, then I want you to get some sleep," she said. "At least try."

"I'll try."

She exhaled slowly. "I love you, sweetheart," she said. "Daddy loves you too."

"I love you too," he echoed. "And….I'm sorry for being so…well-"

"Don't worry about it at all, baby," she said. "You call us whenever you need to, okay?"

"Okay," he said. "Night, Mom."

"Goodnight, Kurt," she said softly.

She hung up the phone and set it down on her knee, clasping her hands together tightly. "Is he okay?" Burt asked.

She raked her hair back behind her ear. "Let's just say I really wish it was just a maxed out credit card," she said grimly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Hey, everybody, I'm back!...with a very sad drabble, apparently. Oh, well.

I haven't been around much lately, neither here nor on Tumblr, but hopefully that's going to change! I just finished out an EXTREMELY stressful school year, which led to me deciding on not going back next year. Well, there are a lot of factors that went into that decision, actually, but that's the short version.

So now I ought to have time to write! I hope you're looking forward to some new stories, because I've missed writing!

(And I'm starting a new original novel today too!)


	283. Confrontation

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Adam blinked groggily as the bed shifted beside him. He could barely make out Kurt's slim shape in the darkness as he slipped out of bed and walked down the hall to the bathroom. He smiled to himself. The younger boy had been staying the night with him at least four nights out of the week now, and he'd gotten rather attached to falling asleep with Kurt beside him, curled up against his side.<p>

He had nearly drifted back to sleep when he felt a hesitant hand on his arm. "Adam? Are…are you awake?"

He rolled onto his back, blinking up at Kurt, who was standing beside the bed with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. "Uh-huh," he said. "What is it?"

"I…um, could you take me to the hospital?"

Adam bolted upright. "What's wrong?" he asked. He reached up and touched Kurt's forehead. "You're warm, but you're not too feverish. What's wrong?"

"I, uh…" Kurt started to say. He was shaking, Adam realized, and he wrapped an arm around the younger boy's waist to gently tug him onto his lap.

"Tell me what's wrong so I can help," he said, rubbing Kurt's back and trying to still his shivering.

"I have a condition that, um…my digestive system is all screwed up," Kurt said, huddling against Adam's chest and digging his fingers into his blanket. "And I've been feeling like I might have a flareup soon, and then…I, um, I threw up blood, and-"

Adam swung his legs over the side of the bed, still holding Kurt, and stood up. "What do you need to bring with you?" he asked.

"My insurance card's in my wallet," Kurt said. "I can walk, I'm okay."

Adam smoothed Kurt's hair back, scanning his face anxiously in the half light, and set him down beside the door. "Stay right here," he said. "We'll leave in just a second."

He went into the bathroom, flicking on the light before rummaging through the laundry basket for a mostly-clean pair of jeans. As he pulled them on he glanced at the sink and his stomach turned. Bright red blood was splashed like paint on the cream-colored surface; Kurt had obviously tried to rinse it away but he hadn't done a very good job.

Adam turned off the light and went back into the bedroom, grabbing his shoes and his keys before grabbing Kurt's pristine sneakers. "Can you put these on yourself?" he asked, holding them out, but Kurt was leaning heavily against the wall, one arm over his stomach and his other hand clamped over his mouth. "Kurt? Are you all right?"

Kurt nodded. "My wallet's gone," he said. "Left it with Blaine."

Adam clenched his teeth, exhaled slowly, and forced himself to relax. They'd gone to dinner with his boyfriend's ex and his older brother that night; Blaine was in town looking at colleges and of course Kurt wanted to show him the town. It had been a pretty good night, all things considered, but he vaguely remembered Kurt getting a text once they were home that he'd left his wallet at the diner, but it was okay, Blaine had it, he'd give it back the next day when they went to MoMA. At the time he'd just teased Kurt about being absentminded, but now he wished he'd insisted that Blaine bring it right over.

"I'll give him a call and have him meet us at the hospital," Adam said. "It's more important that we get you there first. If he…Kurt?" Kurt's skin was blotched in red and white, his eyes beginning to water. "Kurt, what's wrong?"

"…gonna be sick…"

Before he could do anything Kurt cupped his hands over his mouth and leaned over, his shoulders hitching as he retched. Adam grabbed the first thing he could find, a towel hanging on the bedroom doorknob, and held it under Kurt's hands. Thick blood spilled between his fingers and dotted the towel and Adam's heart stopped beating for a second.

And then suddenly Kurt's knees gave way and he slid down the wall, his head tilting forward drunkenly. "No, no, no," Adam said, catching his arms before he could fall the rest of the way. "No, no, it's okay."

Kurt's long lashes fluttered a little. His hands fell limply from his mouth, his lips slack and reddened. Adam tenderly wiped the blood from his fingers and mouth. "Dizzy," he murmured.

"It's going to be okay," he soothed. He unlaced Kurt's sneakers and slid them onto his feet, tying them carefully. Kurt leaned back against the wall, his chin tipped up. "Can you walk, or do you need me to carry you?"

"Can walk," he said, but Adam didn't quite trust him. He slid his hands under Kurt's armpits and helped him to stagger to his feet, bearing most of his weight. Kurt leaned against him. He was nearly as tall as Adam, and broad-shouldered too, but his waist was so small and his ribs made lines against his soft thin tee shirt.

Adam grabbed the towel, draping it over his shoulder as he helped Kurt hobble down the stairs. Kurt was nearly bent double, the arm not wrapped around Adam's shoulders clutching his stomach. He thanked his lucky stars that not only was his apartment only on the second floor, but he had a car of his own. It was a clunker, but better to take Kurt in his own car than trying to get the poor boy in a taxi or worse, the subway.

He wrestled the passenger door of his tiny two-door sedan open and helped Kurt ease inside, brushing fast food wrappers and a B-plus paper from his dramaturgy class on the floor before he sat down, then buckled him in and closed the door. "It won't take us long to get there," he reassured Kurt as he climbed into the driver's seat and revved the engine. He handed the towel to Kurt, laying it over his knees, and inched out of his parallel parking spot.

The streets were pretty empty, the lights blinking slowly over the dark, rain-slick street, and Adam leaned forward to wipe condensation off the windshield. "Kurt?" he said. "How're you feeling?"

He glanced over to see his young boyfriend curled up in the fetal position. "Cramps," Kurt gasped through his teeth. "Hurts."

Adam reached over and took his cold, clammy hand; Kurt latched on tightly, linking their fingers together. "Just a little longer, love," he said, kissing Kurt's knuckles. "You'll be fine. Just a little longer."

He drove into the small parking lot behind the emergency clinic and parked, squeezing Kurt's hand before he let go. "Can you walk in?" he asked. "Can I carry you?"

Kurt had the towel over his mouth, his eyes closed tightly as his shoulders heaved, and Adam was out of the car in a second. He pulled Kurt out of the passenger seat and picked him up. "I've got you," he said, kissing the top of his head.

He carried Kurt into the emergency room, but Kurt struggled out of his grasp when they were inside and clear of the rain. "I can walk," he murmured, staggering over to a seat. "Go sign me in, I guess…"

Kurt was still clutching the bloody towel in his hands like a child with a security blanket. Adam kissed the top of his head, tangling his fingers briefly in his soft thick hair, and walked over to the receptionist.

He signed Kurt's name on the sign in sheet and he picked up the clipboard to take back to him. Kurt took it in shaky hands, filling out his information in wobbly handwriting. Adam wrapped an arm around his shoulders and kissed his temple. "Do you want me to do that?" he asked.

Kurt shook his head. "Go call Blaine, tell him to bring my wallet," he mumbled. "'m fine." He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand before turning back to his clipboard. "Use my phone. 's in my pocket."

He pulled it out and handed it to Adam, his fingers cold as ice. Adam rubbed the back of his hand lightly. "I'll be right back," he said.

He scrolled through Kurt's numbers and found Blaine, selecting the number for his cell phone. It rang three times before Blaine picked up, mumbling a hello in a sleepy voice.

"Kurt? What's wrong?"

"It's Adam Crawford, actually, Kurt's boyfriend," he said. "Kurt's ill and we're in the emergency room. Can you bring his wallet? It's got his insurance card."

"Oh my god, yeah," Blaine said, startled. "Is he all right? Is it a flare up?"

"That's what he said," Adam said, glancing back at Kurt. The clipboard and pen were limp in his hands and he was staring blankly at the floor.

"Where are you?" Blaine asked. He could hear him scrambling for clothes and shoes in the dark of his hotel room. "What's the address? I'll take a cab. I'll be out there in a second, okay?"

He told him, worrying at his lip as he watched Kurt hunch over in his seat. "We'll be in triage by the time you get here, I think," he said. "Just make sure you have his insurance card."

"I will, I will, I've got it in my hand. Tell him I'll-"

A nurse leaned out of the doorway. "Kurt Hummel?" she called.

Adam hung up the phone and picked Kurt up out of the chair. The clipboard started to fall from his hands and he caught it, handing it off to the nurse. "He's in bad shape," he said, shifting Kurt so he could lean his cheek on his shoulder.

"Just bring him in here and we'll take a look," the nurse said. "Are his medical records on file here?"

"He's a college student, he's from Ohio," Adam said. Kurt went limp as he set him down on the examination table, curling into a little ball. "He's got…some kind of condition, I think, I don't know much about it."

The nurse patted Kurt's arm. "Honey, can you tell me what's wrong?" she asked.

Kurt folded his arms tighter around his stomach. "'m cold," he mumbled.

"His friend's on his way with his insurance card," Adam said. And as much as he didn't want to say it, he added, "and he'll probably be able to tell you more about his condition."

"I sure hope so," the nurse said. "I'll go ahead and take his vitals and document his symptoms."

Adam sat beside the table, his hands clasped on his knees, watching anxiously as the nurse checked over Kurt. His shivering increased tenfold, his teeth beginning to chatter, but the nurse wrote down in his file that he was running a fever. Adam reached over and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, smiling at him, but Kurt just looked lost and dazed. He started to wonder why it was taking so long. The nurse seemed to be going so slowly.

The door to the triage room opened and Blaine looked in, his hair wild. "There you are," he said. He held out Kurt's wallet. "His card's in there."

Adam stood up and gripped the slim leather case. "Can you explain about…what's going on?" he said. "I don't know…I just don't know enough about Kurt's medical history to help."

"Sure, sure," Blaine said earnestly.

The nurse picked up the clipboard. "He didn't put down much past the basics," she said. "What can you tell me?"

"He was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis when he was ten," Blaine explained. "He has flareups on occasion, but he takes medication to manage symptoms and-"

The nurse paused. "Oh," she said. "Oh!" She set down the clipboard. "All right, hang on. I'm going to go get someone."

Blaine stepped out of the way as the nurse hurried out of the room and inched closer to Kurt. "Kurt? How're you feeling?" he asked, squeezing his arm.

Kurt looked up blearily. "Trying not to throw up again," he said.

Adam watched Blaine smooth his hand gently up and down Kurt's upper arm. "You'll be fine," he soothed. He touched the back of his hand to Kurt's forehead. "It's not as bad as last summer. I bet they won't even keep you here for very long. Just overnight."

Kurt tried to smile. "Don't want to stay here," he said.

"I know," Blaine said. "I know, honey."

Adam cleared his throat. "I think the receptionist needs to see Kurt's insurance card," he said. "Can you head over and take care of that?"

Blaine started. "Oh," he said. "Oh, sure, I…" He glanced from Kurt back to Adam, pressing his lips together. "Sure."

He slipped out of the room, clutching Kurt's wallet in his hand, and Adam sat down beside the examination table, gently tilting Kurt's chin to look into his glazed-over eyes. "Hey, love," he whispered. "You're going to be all right."

Kurt blinked slowly, sluggishly, and leaned a little closer to rest his hot cheek on Adam's forearm. His knees were drawn up tight to his chest, his hands clenched in loose fists, and Adam stroked his hair back from his forehead.

The nurse came back in, accompanied by a doctor, and suddenly everything seemed to move too fast. They worked over Kurt, making him lie down on his back and poking at him and prodding him and checking his eyes and his mouth and his pulse. Kurt didn't make a sound, but his eyes closed tightly, his whole face screwed up in pain. Adam took his hand and Kurt clung to his fingers, gripping tightly till his nails dug into his skin. He drew Kurt's hand to his lips, pressing soft light kisses against his white knuckles and trying to rub warmth into his cold, clammy skin.

The nurse began to prepare an IV, setting out needles and tubes and bags of saline. She took Kurt's limp left hand, prepping his soft skin.

"I hate needles," Kurt murmured. "Hold my hand?"

Adam leaned over him, wrapping his arm snugly over Kurt's chest and pressing his cheek to his. "I'm here, darling," he said. "Hold on to me."

Kurt reached up and touched the back of Adam's neck gingerly, his fingers slowly tangling in his hair. He could feel Kurt's soft warm breath in the crook of his shoulder and hear the quick raspiness of his breaths.

"You'll feel a little stick," the nurse said absently, and Adam felt Kurt's entire body tense as the needle pierced his skin. He rubbed his cheek against Kurt's temple, biting back a wince as Kurt's fingers tugged too tightly on his hair out of panic.

"There we go, you're all set."

Kurt sagged back, whining through his clenched teeth as his hand went limp. Adam leaned back, his throat tightening at the greenish pallor of Kurt's skin. "Sh, sh, sh, it's all right," he said, cupping his hand in both of his. "Sh, sh, sh."

The nurse set out a few syringes. "We'll give him something to calm his system, as well as an anti-emetic and a sedative," she said. "He'll be out like a light in just a bit, but as long as he responds well to the saline and the medicine you can take him home and let him rest."

"Thanks," Adam said, massaging his thumb over Kurt's knuckles.

He glanced back over his shoulder to see Blaine standing by the door, his clasped hands pressed to his mouth as he regarded Kurt solemnly, hazel eyes wide and thoughtful. "That's good," he said, and Adam wasn't sure if he was talking to him or just to himself.

Kurt turned towards the sound. "Blaine's here?" he rasped.

As much as he didn't want to, Adam nodded. "Right over there," he said.

"Can I see him?"

Blaine walked over to him and rested his hand lightly on Kurt's chest. "I'm right here," he said. "You did great with the IV, sweetheart."

"Too dizzy to fight it," Kurt mumbled, rolling his eyes, and Blaine smiled warmly at him, his eyes alight and scrunched in the corners.

"They're giving you all the good stuff," he reassured Kurt. "You'll fall asleep and wake up feeling better. Okay?"

Kurt nodded a little. "Can you call my dad?" he asked. "I promised I'd call him if I ever had to go to the emergency room."

"Sure, honey," Blaine said, already reaching for his phone. Adam pressed his lips together as Blaine punched in the speed dial. "I'll let him know."

Adam cleared his throat. "Could we…have a second?" he said. "Before you call."

Blaine looked up, surprised. "I guess," he said.

Adam bent over Kurt. "I'll be right back," he said, kissing his cheek. "You just rest."

"Mmkay," Kurt murmured, sighing deeply.

Adam walked out into the hallway, Blaine close behind him. "What's this about?" Blaine asked, closing the door behind them.

"Look, I know you're still in love with Kurt," Adam said bluntly, and Blaine's face briefly flushed red. "But I love him too. And right now, I'm his boyfriend."

"You know, now's really not the time to play tug of war over him," Blaine said. "It's kind of a jerk move."

"I'm not trying to pick a fight," Adam said. "I just think we ought to work together on this, instead of passive-aggressively trying to one-up each other. Because right now, I'm Kurt's boyfriend, but you're one of his best friends. And you know more about his…health condition than I do. We need to be on the same team, because what's important right now isn't who's dating Kurt. It's making sure that he gets better."

Blaine glanced up, exhaling deeply. "You're right," he said. "We're both kind of being asses right now, aren't we?"

"Happens to the best of us," Adam said. He held out his hand. "Truce?"

Blaine grinned. "Truce," he said, clasping Adam's hand and shaking it firmly.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

UGH I JUST REALLY LOVE KLAINE AND I REALLY LOVE KADAM AND I JUST WANT KURT TO BE HAPPY AND AHHHHHH THIS IS SO HARD.

If Adam was like...mean or abusive or something it would be easier, but he's sweet and adorable and clearly worships the ground Kurt walks on, so this is REALLY HARD. But I feel like Adam would just want Kurt to be happy.

(but yeah I have an age difference/innocent!Kurt kink and ahhhhhhhh...Kadam.)

(can like...the three of them just be together? Just...I don't know. Maybe they become polygamists. Polyamorists. Something. I don't know.)

Anyways.

Someone prompt me some mean!abusive!Adam, though, because that would be fascinating to write.


	284. Separated

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"All right, Finn, we just have to meet one more teacher and then we'll be done with the open house," Carole said, tugging lightly on her thirteen-year-old son's sleeve to steer him down the hall.<p>

"Where'd Dad go?" Finn asked.

"He's getting all the registration stuff you need for the football team," she reminded him. "Now come on. Art class."

Finn groaned and rolled his eyes. "Ugh, Mom, no," he whined. "Why'd you sign me up for art?"

"Because you needed an elective, and I wasn't about to put you in orchestra again," she said. She prodded him into the classroom. "Come on, it's not that bad."

"But Mrs. Hudgely teaches art, and she's old and she smells like green beans and she talks about her pet birds way too much," Finn whined.

"Actually, Mrs. Hudgely retired," an amused voice said.

Carole turned Finn towards the teacher standing directly behind them. "Please forgive my son," she sighed.

"It's all right," the young pretty teacher laughed. "I've been getting that reaction all day. I don't blame them; Mrs. Hudgely taught my middle school art class when I went to Greenbriar too, and believe it or not, she was worse then."

"Oh, you're from the area?" Carole asked.

"I grew up here," she said. "I've been living in New York for the past few years, but I came back to be near my parents." She held out her hand. "I'm sorry, I never introduced myself. I'm Mollie Melrose."

"Carole Hudson," she said, shaking the young woman's hand. "This is my son, Finn. He's going into the seventh grade."

"It's nice to meet you, Finn," Miss Melrose said. Carole hid a snicker as Finn blushed red from the attention. "Which homeroom are you in?"

"Uh…Mrs. Richardson," Finn mumbled, looking down at his shoes.

"Oh, then you're in the same class as my son," Miss Melrose said, pleased.

"You have a son in the seventh grade? You look so young," Carole said.

Miss Melrose laughed. "Don't worry, I get that a lot," she said. "But yes, he's mine. So, Finn, you're-"

"Oh, there you are," Burt said, sticking his head in the classroom. "There you are, Carole, I was trying to find you."

"We were just meeting Finn's art teacher," Carole said. "Burt, this is Miss Melrose. She took over Mrs. Hudgley's job. And she-"

Her voice trailed off. All the color had drained from her husband's face. "Burt?" she asked. "Are you all right?"

"Mollie," Burt breathed.

She looked over at the art teacher. Miss Melrose was staring at Burt like she'd seen a ghost. "You…you two know each other?" she asked.

It took Burt a few times before he could get the words out. "High school," he managed to say. "We knew each other in…"

"…high school," Miss Melrose finished.

"Oh," Carole said, shifting her weight uncomfortably. Finn didn't seem to notice what was going on, too distracted by a large sculpture in the corner of the classroom, and she was relieved. The tension was awkward. "Did you know each well, or-"

"Mama, I cleaned out your paint cabinet," a voice chirped, and a slim little thirteen-year-old boy darted into the room, his plain white tee shirt and dark jeans smeared with tempera paint but his red sneakers and print scarf in pristine condition. "It was awful in there. I think you need to order some new acrylics." He paused, tilting his head as he sized up the visitors. "Hi."

"Is this your son?" Carole tried, but Burt had gone completely white.

"Mollie," he rasped. "Is that…is he…"

Mollie Melrose reached out to take her son by the arm, her slender fingers closing tightly over his elbow, and he looked from her to Burt in confusion. "Mama, what's wrong?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

Burt crossed his arms over his chest, like he was trying to hold his heart in his chest. Carole's throat felt tight and she didn't know why; even Finn had looked up from the sculpture to stare. "What's your name, kid?" Burt asked, his voice soft and hoarse.

He looked at his mother and she nodded. "Kurt," he said.

"Oh god," Burt mumbled, covering his mouth with his hand. "Oh my god." He reached out to touch the boy's cheek; Kurt flinched and pressed closer to his mother's side. "No, kiddo, don't…"

"Burt, what the hell is going on?" Carole asked, her voice rising, sharper than she intended. Burt dragged his hand over his mouth and Mollie swallowed hard, both of them preparing to answer, but Kurt cut both of them off.

"You're my dad, aren't you?" he demanded, still clinging to his mother's arm.

The sculpture in Finn's hands crashed to the floor, shattering and spreading in a wide ripple of pretty glass on the floor, but no one noticed. Finn jerked his hand back. "Burt, you have a kid?" he asked, half confused and half accusing.

"Burt, you never said anything," Carole snapped, her stomach tightening. "He's your son."

"I didn't know," Burt said. "I didn't….you never told me."

"Well, the last time we talked about the baby, you told me you didn't care about what happened," Mollie said.

"I had plans, Moll, we couldn't-"

"I was seventeen and I gave up everything to raise my baby!"

"Our-"

"No, Burt. Not ours. Mine."

Finn was staring at them with his mouth open. Burt looked like he was going to be sick, and Mollie Melrose's blue eyes were blazing. Kurt pressed closer, one hand creeping to cover his ears. "Mom, stop it," he pleaded.

Mollie turned to him, her expression softening as she took in his pallor and his trembling lips, and she hugged him, rubbing his back. "I'm sorry, honey," she said. "Sh, sh, I'm sorry. It's okay."

"He's my kid," Burt said- not asking but confirming. Mollie nodded without looking up. "Mollie, can we talk? About this?"

"Not now," she said. She hugged Kurt to her side. "Later. Much later." She whispered something in Kurt's ear and he nodded, pulling away and wiping at his eyes, and she looked at him as she watched him hurry out of the classroom. "Maybe not ever."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Welcome to my strange world of alternate universes!

In this universe, Burt and Mollie didn't get married when she got pregnant her senior year. They broke up, and she raised Kurt alone, without ever even telling Burt that she'd had him. Burt kept on in Lima, running the garage and marrying Carole when Finn was about ten or so, and Mollie studied art in New York City while teaching piano lessons and raising her baby.

AND NOW ANGST SHALL ABOUND!

By the way, my askbox is open again for prompts on Tumblr, but I'm being very picky and choosy about which ones I write. So if you pompt something, it may or may not get filled. :) I'm just trying to keep myself from getting burned out again! :D


	285. Unwanted

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Mollie's heart nearly fell out of her chest with relief as the front door clicked quietly. "What were you doing out, young man?" she demanded, her voice sharper than she intended.<p>

She flipped on the living room light and glared at her son. Kurt stared back at her, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. "Mom!" he stammered. "I wasn't…I just…"

"It is one-thirty in the morning, Kurt," she said. "Why did you sneak out? Where were you?"

"I'm not a criminal," he scoffed, kicking off his sneakers and shrugging out of his jacket with a careless toss of his head.

She caught him by the chin. "Kurt, this isn't like you," she snapped. "And do you know what it was like for me to realize you were missing, and then you weren't answering your phone? I was thirty minutes away from calling the police."

He faltered. "I'm sorry," he said, and she sighed, sitting down and running her fingers through her hair. "I didn't mean to worry you, but…I just had to go somewhere."

"You are thirteen years old. It's the middle of the night. Where did you need to go?"

He tugged self-consciously on his left sock. "Just…somewhere," he said. "It was really important. I'm tired. Can I go to bed now?"

He stared to move towards the stairs, but she caught him by the shoulder. "Not until we talk," she said. "You've never done anything like this before. What's gotten into you?"

"Nothing," he said, stamping his foot down for emphasis, and she grabbed him by the elbow.

"Kurt, you've bled through your socks," she said. "How far did you walk?"

He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Sadler Street," he whispered.

"Kurt, that's all the way across town!" she said, horrified. "What in God's name is so important that you had to walk to Sadler-"

Her voice trailed off.

"Please don't be mad," Kurt said in a tiny voice.

She sank down in a chair, covering her mouth with her hands. "You snuck out to see your father, didn't you?" she whispered.

"I didn't think you'd let me!" Kurt cried. "I just wanted to meet him, Mom! You won't tell me anything about him."

"I thought he'd left Lima years ago," she murmured into her cupped palms. "God, I was afraid of this."

"You didn't even tell him I was born!" Kurt accused, and Mollie stood up sharply, taking him by the arm and turning him to face her.

"Your father didn't want us," she told him. "He didn't want to start a family, he didn't want a baby. None of his plans included us."

"You still could've told him," Kurt shouted.

Mollie let out a shaky breath, cupping Kurt's face in her hands. "KK, he didn't want a family," she said, smoothing a lock of hair out of his eyes.

"But he has a family _now_," her son insisted. "Things changed! Why didn't you ever try to talk to him? If things changed, maybe we could fix everything! This is your fault! If you had just talked to him-"

It hurt more than she thought it could, but she steeled herself. "I didn't want to talk to him," she said. "I didn't tell him about you because I didn't want him to break your heart. I thought…that maybe it would be easier if you never knew him, then to wait for phone calls and birthday presents and visits and be disappointed when they didn't come. And maybe it wasn't the right choice, but-"

Kurt shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together.

She paused. "What?" she said, running her thumb against his lower lip. "What's wrong?"

"You…you were right. He doesn't want me."

Mollie's heart turned over in her chest. "What happened?" she asked, reaching for his hands and holding them tightly.

"I went to his garage," Kurt said dully. "I wanted to try to talk to him, but I…I got too nervous. So I just stayed there, watching. He was working late, and his…his _son _was there, helping him. And then his wife came- she brought dinner, and they all sat there, eating and watching a football game, and…and they were happy. And he-"

His voice broke off and he pulled his hands away. "Can I go to my room now?" he begged.

She shook her head. "Tell me everything," she said softly.

Kurt's eyes welled up and he dashed at the tears, struggling to keep his breathing in check. "Something happened in the game that he didn't like, and he was yelling at the TV, and…then he said…'that fag doesn't know what he's talking about,' and…and he was saying all these things about how…how gay the referee was, and how…"

His face crumpled and his whole little body just drooped. "He'd hate me if he knew," he whispered.

Mollie pulled him into her arms and he clung to her, his hands gripping too tightly to the back of her shirt. "It's okay," she murmured. "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay…"

"He doesn't want me, Mama," Kurt sobbed. "My dad doesn't want me."

Mollie sank down on the floor, holding her son as close as she could while he bawled into her shoulder, trying her best to comfort him even though she knew it was useless.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Welp, I'm a bit verklempt now...

If this had happened, Burt would definitely not be the person he is now.

Poor little baby Kurt. His heart is broken.


	286. Uncomfortable

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Finn, is your room cleaned? The second bed ready?" Carole asked anxiously.<p>

Finn nodded. "Yeah, Mom, for like the millionth time," he said.

"And you've cleaned out space in your closet and your drawers for Kurt to put his things?"

"Uh-huh."

"And you've-"

"Mom, why are you so worried?" Finn asked, exasperated.

Carole sighed heavily and sank down on the couch. "I just really want everything to go well," she confessed. "Kurt's going to have to stay with us for at least a month, and it's going to be so hard on him."

Finn crossed his arms and frowned. "He's not the one who has to share his room," he grumbled.

"Finn, you have to be kind to him," Carole said, rubbing her forehead. "He's-"

"I don't want him to live with us," Finn interrupted. "I don't want Dad's other kid to stay here, and I definitely don't want to share my room with him."

"Enough," Carole snapped. She sat back on the couch, leaning heavily on her hand. "Enough, Finn. I know you're upset, but try to think about Kurt's feelings, okay? He and his mother barely walked away from that car wreck, and now he has to stay with strangers until she's better. Think about how scared you would be if that happened to you."

Finn shifted his weight, staring down at his sneakers. "He better not mess with my stuff," he mumbled.

The key turned in the front door's lock and Carole stood up quickly. "Best behavior," she warned, adjusting the collar of Finn's polo shirt before he could tug away.

Burt opened the door and walked into the living room, a large duffle bag hanging awkwardly from his hand. "All right, kid, welcome home," he said, falsely cheerful. Finn crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the doorway. "C'mon, bud, don't be shy."

Burt held the door open and Finn glared harder. His father's other son walked into the house, clearly nervous, his lips chapped and bitten. Kurt was a lot smaller and skinnier than he was, even though he was only a few months younger. His forehead was heavily bandaged and his left arm was tucked into a sling, the cast spreading nearly to his shoulder.

"Hi, sweetheart," Carole said, ushering him inside. Kurt sort of glanced at her, but he was shaking a little, like he was cold- or scared. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, thank you," he whispered, as if she had only asked him how school was going, and not how he was faring after surviving a three-car pileup a week ago.

"I've made up a bed for you in Finn's room, and he's cleared out some drawers for you to put your things," Carole offered. "You two will have the basement all to yourselves. I think you'll have fun."

Finn barely bit back a snort. It wasn't going to be fun at all to share a room with his little stepbrother.

"You hungry?" Burt asked. Kurt shook his head. "Well, make yourself at home, kiddo. There's a bathroom downstairs in the basement. Want me to carry your stuff down for you?"

"I can get it," Kurt whispered. He picked up the duffle bag clumsily and dragged it behind him, brushing past Finn to the staircase.

Carole glanced back as he retreated. "Are you sure he's feeling all right?" she whispered.

Burt shrugged. "The kid won't really talk to me," he said. "He's doing well enough that the doctor let me take him, but I think he's still in a lot of pain."

Carole picked up a couch pillow, fluffed it, and set it back down. "How about his mother?" she asked.

"Bad," Burt said. "Really bad."

The first hint of nagging guilt tugged at Finn's chest. "Is she going to die?" he asked.

"No, thank God," Burt said. "But she's bad off, especially with the fractured pelvis. She'll be in the hospital for another couple of weeks, and when they're done with the surgeries and the cast comes off she'll have to go through physical therapy." He fumbled in his pocket. "Which reminds me, they gave me this to get filled for Kurt's pain meds."

"You go take care of it, I'll start dinner," Carole said. "Is Kurt a picky eater?"

"I don't know," Burt said uncomfortably. "He hasn't been eating much at the hospital since the wreck, but hopefully he'll be hungry enough to eat soon."

"Well, I'm sure I can come up with something," Carole said, rolling up her sleeves. "You go get his prescription filled. Finn, honey, can you set the table and then go help Kurt unpack?"

"Yeah, I guess," Finn sighed.

He dragged his feet setting the table, making sure to set his favorite plate at his usual seat so he could make sure Kurt wouldn't try to take it. The kitchen started to smell delicious as his mom started making dinner, but he scowled. Soon she was going to start making all of Kurt's favorite foods instead of his.

"Finn, honey, go help Kurt, all right?" Carole reminded him.

"God, Mom, I know," Finn grumbled as he stomped down the stairs. He didn't want to help Kurt unpack. Maybe he'd help if he wanted to pack up and leave, but he wasn't about to help Kurt move in.

A sharp sound caught his attention and he paused on the stairs. It almost sounded like Kurt was crying.

"Mom, I want to go home," he heard Kurt whimper, and he peeked around the corner just a little bit.

Kurt was sitting on the floor, huddled under a thick homemade quilt drawn around him like a cape, and he was clutching his phone in his good hand. "Baby, it's going to be okay," a soft, tired voice crackled over the speakerphone.

"I want it to be okay now," Kurt sobbed. "I hate it here. I want to go home. I want to be with you, Mama."

"Honey, you can't stay in the hospital with me. You need to go back to school and stay with your dad and-"

"But I don't think Mr. Hummel likes me!" Kurt cried. "And I know Finn doesn't. I don't want to be here, Mama. Please let me go home!"

Finn hung back as Kurt sobbed in earnest, sounding like his heart was broken. The voice on the speakerphone tried to comfort him, but Kurt sounded too devastated to listen. Finn bit his lip, the guilt slowly seeping through.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

UGH MY DARLING LITTLE BOY DON'T CRYYYYYYYY.

Poor precioius lamb.


	287. Little Defender

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

(This is from the AU where Carole died and Burt and Mollie adopted Finn.)

* * *

><p>"This is not okay!" Kurt fumed, grabbing Finn's shirt sleeve and tugging him away from the football field.<p>

"It's just a bloody nose, I'm all right," Finn mumbled. He cupped both hands over his face, but blood dripped between his fingers and onto his shirt. "Don't tell Uncle Burt, I'm-"

"Daddy!" Kurt shouted. "Look what the big kids did to Finn!"

Burt stood up, scowling. "C'mere, bud," he said, beckoning Finn forward. "What the hell'd they do to you?"

"Daddy, don't swear," Kurt scolded as he pressed in closer, watching his dad prod gently at Finn's nose.

"What're you gonna do, tell on me?" Burt snorted, sounding amused. He frowned. "It's not broken, but it's pretty bad, buddy. How'd it happen?"

"The big kids didn't want me to play football with them," Finn said, squirming as Burt touched his nose. "They said if I caught the ball I could play, but they threw it in my face."

Burt took a step back, his frown deepening. "Kurt, you go get your mama," he said.

"Why do you need me?" Mollie asked as she walked towards them. "Oh god! Finn! What have you done?"

"The big kids hit him in the face and now Daddy's going to beat them up," Kurt reported.

"Well, maybe not beat them up, but…" Burt shrugged his shoulders and stomped off towards the field.

Mollie nudged Finn lightly until he sat down at the picnic table. "Oh, honey," she sighed. "I bet that hurts, doesn't it?"

"It's not too bad," Finn mumbled.

Mollie tilted Finn's chin forward. "Kurt, angel, stop hovering like that and get me some tissues out of my bag, okay?" she said. Kurt zipped off to obey and came back a second later with an unopened pack. "You'll be all right, sweetheart. Once your nose stops bleeding, we'll take you home and get you an ice pack, okay?"

"Thanks, Aunt Mollie," Finn said.

Kurt leaned in over his mother's elbow. "Daddy says he doesn't think it's broken," he said. "Do you think it's broken, Mama?"

"No. Sit."

Kurt obeyed, sitting down beside Finn and patting his knee. "We'll fix it, Finn, okay?" he said. "Mama will fix your nose and Daddy will yell at the big kids and everything will be okay." Finn suppressed a sigh and patted his overeager little brother on the top of the head.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

Here! Have some adorable little Furt to take the sting off the past few drabbles! :D


	288. Unwanted Attention

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>Cavalier attitude aside, sometimes living in Bushwick really did make Kurt nervous. Nefarious looking teenagers lurking on street corners, disheveled and dazed drug addicts shouting names and obscenities at him as he passed by, the general aura of grime and grit that seemed to cling to everything- it wasn't exactly ideal. Sure, the loft was inexpensive, especially for the amount of space, but he felt drastically better walking down the street with someone else beside him. Safety in numbers and that sort of thing.<p>

But still, nothing prepared him for the guy in the trenchcoat who popped out from behind a lamppost and opened up his coat with a wide leer on his face.

"Oh god, that's not supposed to look like that!" Kurt blurted out, jumping back. He didn't want to stare, but it was almost someone had glued his eyeballs in that particular direction. "Oh god, please, no. Just…just close it."

The flasher's grin spread wider. "Aw, you're cute," he said, his words slurred. "You wanna closer look? Huh? You wanna?"

Kurt backed up, but the stranger just lurched closer. "Um, no, no thanks, can I just…just go now?" he stammered.

His heel struck an unsteady garbage can and he fell back hard, the contents of the trash spilling over his shoes and pants. The flasher leaned over him, his coat flapping open and everything hanging out. "Come on, you're so cute," he wheedled. "Don' be scared. C'mon…"

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut and yelped as a hand closed firmly on his forearm and pulled him to his feet. "All right, that's enough," a familiar voice snapped, and Kurt squinted one eye open to see Adam beside him, his fingers still holding tight to Kurt's sleeve. "Leave him alone or I'm calling the cops."

"Fine, man, fine, whatever," the flasher mumbled before stumbling away. Kurt let out a sigh of relief, sagging into Adam's side.

Adam wrapped an arm around his waist and turned him towards him. "Are you all right?" he asked, hugging him close and rubbing his back. "God, what a creep."

"I'm okay," Kurt said, pressing his face into the comfort of Adam's shoulder. "Just a little rattled."

Adam kissed the top of his head. "I'm glad I got here when I did," he said. He kissed Kurt again. "Do you still want to study for your history of theatre exam, or do you just want to relax for a little while?"

"Relaxing sounds good," Kurt said. "Also, a shower. A long one."

"Sounds like a plan."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

HEY HI HELLO!

So!

I've gotten into a really bad habit of vanishing, updating once or twice, and then vanishing again. Which makes me feel really bad! BUT I HAD A REALLY GOOD REASON, YOU GUYS.

I GOT A JOB AT DISNEY WORLD AGAIN!

I'm so happy. It was just REALLY sudden! Disney called almost as soon as the school year let out, and they wanted me down in a week. A WEEK. P is still in Nashville with our kitty, and I'm applying for apartments down here while I start training. Which...by the way...I'M WORKING AT STAR TOURS!

I am a happy Caitlin.

And hopefully my writing will continue! :D

Also, I should probably update my fanfiction profile, shouldn't I?


	289. Contagion

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>"Burt, you need to talk to your son."<p>

Burt paused in the doorway. "At least let me get my shoes off, woman," he said, amused. "I've been out of town for a week, and that's the first thing you've got to say to me."

"Hi," Carole huffed, taking his suitcase and accepting his kiss. "Now go talk to your son."

"Why? What's Kurt done now?" Burt asked as he loosened his tie.

"Blaine's been here all weekend, laid up with a stomach bug, and Kurt's been bending backwards taking care of him," Carole explained.

"So what's the-" Burt started to say, but he stopped as Kurt rounded the corner. His seventeen-year-old son looked absolutely awful, green around the mouth and dressed in rumpled clothes. "Kurt?"

Kurt blinked, his eyes hazy. "Oh," he said. "Hey, Dad." He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "When'd you get home?"

"About two seconds ago," Burt said. He inched a little closer. "How's your weekend been?"

"Blaine's been sick, poor thing," Kurt said. "I've been taking care of him."

"Some kind of flu bug, right?" Burt guessed. "Fever, puking, feeling achy?"

Kurt screwed up his face. "How'd you know?" he asked.

"Because I got you through plenty of bouts with the flu when you were little," Burt sighed. He beckoned his son closer. "C'mere. Let me feel your forehead."

"Dad, come on," Kurt complained, but he took a step towards him and let his dad brush his hair out of his eyes. "I'm fine. Can I go now? I told Blaine I'd get him something to drink."

"Nope, you're going to bed yourself," Burt said, running the back of his hand lightly along the side of Kurt's cheek to gauge the warmth of his skin. "You've got a fever." He turned Kurt around so he was facing the stairs. "Go on. I'll be up in a second."

Kurt huffed through his teeth. "You tell Blaine why he doesn't have his glass of Sprite," he warned. "He gets cranky when he's sick."

"Oh, like you don't?" Burt snorted. "Go on. I'll get Sprite for Blaine, and Gatorade for you. Yellow kind, right?"

"…the yellow kind, yeah."

Carole followed Burt into the kitchen and leaned her elbows on the island, grinning. "So Dad has the magic touch, huh?" she said.

Burt rolled his eyes. "Not so much a magic touch as I know how to manipulate him just as good as he knows how to manipulate me," he said as he pulled down two plastic cups from the cupboard. "Kurt never tells me when he doesn't feel good, even when he was little. I sent him off to school with the chicken pox once, did I ever tell you about that?"

"The chicken pox?" Carole repeated, raising an eyebrow. "How'd he get away with the red splotches all over him, hm?"

"Told me he spilled paint and couldn't get it off," Burt sighed, and Carole snickered. "Hey, cut that out. I was a single dad without the whole mom-instinct thing. I believed him." He poured a generous amount of Gatorade into the blue cup. "He's always been stubborn about this sort of thing. The only thing I've ever been able to drag out of him is that he doesn't want to be a burden. Of course, he told me that after he clonked his head falling out of a tree at a family reunion when he was thirteen, so I don't know if I can take that seriously, but you know."

"You know, every time you tell me stories about raising Kurt by yourself, I'm amazed at the fact he made it out of childhood alive," Carole said, shaking her head.

Burt rolled his eyes. "Thanks a lot, Care," he said, nudging her playfully as he passed by with the cups in hand. "I'm going to put you on nursing duty instead, how'd you like them apples?"

"Joke's on you, getting two teenagers through a bout of the stomach flu is a cakewalk compared to actually working as a nurse," she laughed.

He sighed heavily, half joking, as he headed up the stairs. His son's bedroom door was cracked open and he could hear a movie playing softly in the background- probably something Disney related.

"Hey, kids," he said, nudging the door open with his hip. "It's a good thing you're both sick, or I wouldn't let you be in the same bed like that."

Blaine looked toward him sleepily as he walked in. He was sitting up in bed, propped up on pillows, his hair rumpled and his hands clasped on his lap as he watched the movie. "Hi, Mr. Hummel," he said sleepily. "Did you have a good flight?"

"As good as those things can get," Burt said, setting the cups down on the nightstand. "I brought Sprite for you and Gatorade for Kurt. Where'd he go?"

"Bathroom," Blaine said, wincing a little. "He's coming down with the same thing I've got."

"That's what I thought," he said.

"I've been trying to get him to take it easy, but he won't listen to me," Blaine said plaintively.

Burt patted his curls. "Don't take it too hard, kiddo, he does the same thing for me," he said.

The toilet flushed noisily and Kurt shuffled out of the bathroom, looking even more worse for wear. "Did you bring Blaine's Sprite?" he worried.

"Kurt, I'm fine," Blaine said. "You need to lie down, honey."

"I'm okay, I'm just tired," Kurt mumbled, but Burt drew him closer and carefully tugged at his clothes.

"C'mon, bud," Burt said. "Arms up." Kurt huffed, but obeyed reluctantly, and Burt helped him undress like he had when Kurt was tiny. "Okay, you've got to work with me. You can't just stand there." He managed to wrestle him into a clean tee shirt and tucked the tag down in the back. "Go lie down."

Blaine scooted over to make room and held up the blankets for Kurt to lie down beside him on his side, his folded hands resting under his cheek as he shivered. "Better?" he asked, drawing the covers up around his shoulders and smoothing them in place. Kurt sort of nodded and Blaine bent to kiss his cheek. "Oh, you are warm. I told you."

Kurt mumbled something noncommittal into his pillow and Blaine kissed the crook of his neck. "You two just take it easy, okay?" Burt said. "Drink lots of fluids, get plenty of sleep. I'll be checking up on you, and you call if you need anything."

"Thanks, Mr. Hummel," Blaine said.

"Thanks, Dad," Kurt mumbled, and Burt bent to kiss his son's temple before heading back downstairs.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

ALL THE DADDY!BURT FEELS.

the end.


	290. Chapter 290

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

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><p>Kurt opened his eyes slowly, blinking in the warm early-morning sunshine filtering through the soft sheer curtains. His slim little fingers curled a little as he yawned, stretching out on the big bed. Somehow he'd ended up in his parents' bed, even though he was pretty sure he'd fallen asleep in his own bed the night before. Yes, he had- his mother had tucked him in and read him a story and sung him a song, and had finally given in to his pleading to sleep beside him. The last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep was his mother softly stroking his back as he snuggled into her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair.<p>

He rolled over onto his stomach, rubbing his eyes sleepily with his knuckles. His mother wasn't there, but his father was. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to Kurt, his head bowed and his hands clasped on his knees.

"Daddy?" Kurt said. He scooted forward on his elbows and crawled to sit up on his knees. "G'morning."

His father started a little, as if he had been so lost in thought that the sound of his child's voice had woken him up from a deep sleep. He didn't say anything.

Kurt leaned up to wrap his arms around his father's neck from behind and leaned to kiss him on the cheek. "Hi," he said. "Is Mommy making breakfast?"

Burt swallowed hard. "No," he said, covering both of Kurt's slim hands with one of his. "No, scooter."

"Oh, is she still asleep?" Kurt asked. "Can we make her breakfast, then?" Burt squeezed his hands hard, still not looking up at him. "Ow! Too tight, Daddy."

He tried to wriggle away, but Burt wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him onto his lap so he was facing him. "Kurt," he started, but his voice broke. He cupped his hand around the back of Kurt's head, tangling his fingers in his hair. "There's…there's something we've got to talk about, buddy."

Kurt stilled. There was something awful in his father's face, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It gave him the same unsteady feeling that he got in the second after missing the first step on the staircase, or falling out of a tree down to the ground. "What's wrong, Daddy?" he asked.

Burt pulled Kurt closer, so close that he could feel his father's hitching heartbeat under his flannel shirt. "What's wrong, Daddy?" he asked again. His father's mouth had gone tight, the lines around his eyes deep and pronounced like they'd been carved into the skin. Kurt tried to pull away. "Daddy, you're scaring me." He fought Burt's tight grip. "I want Mommy. Where's Mommy?"

"Kurt, we have to talk," Burt said, holding on tight. "You have to listen to me."

Kurt thumped his fist on Burt's collarbone. "I don't want you," he said. "I want Mommy." He leaned as far out of Burt's grip as he could manage. "Mommy!"

No one answered his call, and something cold rose up in his chest.

"Kurt…your mama has been so sick," Burt said, still struggling to hold onto him. "She wasn't feeling good. You know that." He scooped Kurt up, holding him to his chest. "Kurt…your mama…your mama died last night. While she was sleeping. She…she died."

Kurt stared at him.

Burt smoothed Kurt's hair back from his forehead, studying his face. His eyes had gone red around the edges. "Baby, say something," he whispered. "C'mon, please. Don't just look at me like that."

His grip went slack for just a second and Kurt kicked at him, falling out his arms and falling on the floor. "Mommy!" he screamed, scrambling to his feet and running down the hall. "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!"

His father's footsteps were heavy behind him. "Kurt, no, come back here!"

But he kept running, pushing at every door, screaming at the top of his lungs. No one answered him. He ran down the stairs, tripping over the hem of his pajama pants and falling flat on the floor. The carpet burned his palms and twin shocks ran through his knees, but he tried to get up anyway.

The front door of the house was open, filling the foyer with bright morning sunshine. Two strangers in dark blue stood by the door, talking to each other in low voices. Kurt tried to yell at them, to tell the strangers to go away and get out of his house, but his words died in his throat.

An ambulance was parked in the driveway, the sirens silent and the lights dimmed. There was a silver stretcher outside the door, covered in a wide white sheet. His heart began to race in his small chest and he jumped to his feet, pushing past the strangers.

"Hey, kid-" one of them started to say, but Kurt ran past them, the gravel in the driveway cutting into his bare feet. He could see the dim shape under the sheet, and from under the hem he could see the faintest hint of strawberry blonde hair, and-

"My mom!" he screamed. "Give me back my mom! Give me back my mommy!"

He was a second away from grabbing the sheet and yanking it away when a strong arm grabbed him around the waist and scooped him up. "I want my mom!" he screamed, pulling hard on his captor's collar. "No, no, no, I want my mom!"

He scratched as hard as he could, scrabbling at his father's neck, but Burt just held him tight and sank down on the porch steps to cradle him on his lap. "I know, I know," Burt said. "I know, I know, I know."

Kurt pulled hard at his father's shirt, hard enough to rip the fabric, and arched his back, still screaming. "No, no, no!" he shouted, kicking hard at Burt's thigh.

But it didn't matter how hard he bit and screamed and kicked. His father held him tightly to his chest, smoothing his hair and rocking him like he was a baby. The ambulance pulled out of the driveway and Kurt went limp as it disappeared down the street and took his mother away, his furious shrieks fading into sobs so hard that it made his chest ache.

Burt still rocked him against his chest, pressing his damp cheek to the top of Kurt's head. Kurt clung to the front of his shirt, wrapping his arms desperately around his neck as if it was the only thing that could keep him from drowning.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

OKAY WOW #1 I FORGOT I WROTE THIS AND NOW I HAVE FEELS AND #2 YIKES THIS TITLE IS VERY MISLEADING.

I wonder how many people saw this and were like "OMG SHE'S QUITTING." Which, I'm sure, is what this past year has felt like. There's been a lot of changes going on for me! In the past year I've moved to a new state, started a new job (as a spaceport agent at Star Tours in Disney's Hollywood Studios!), moved to a new home, got my car totaled (which still breaks my heart, ily girlymobile), and crosstrained at a second work location- the Great Movie Ride! (So if you're ever in Disney's Hollywood Studios, you should look for me, I am always up for hugs and pictures. :D) But all that to say that writing has been the LAST thing on my mind, even though I've missed it.

Well, I applied for a Klaine hiatus book thing, and they rejected me. Not going to lie, I was initially hurt. But then I got over it, because do you know what? I am a good writer. And I like writing. And I am going to keep writing. (Especially finishing all of the unfinished works I have languishing about.) So I'm going to start drabbling here and there, easing my way back in, and I've signed up to write for the Klaine Bingo challenge, which looks like a lot of fun.

(Also the people running the Klaine book thing are snippy and cliquey and unprofessional, so now I'm actually pretty glad I don't have to deal with them.)

But here I am, cake pops! Ready to write things! And talk to people! I still have my redbullandcupcakebatter tumblr for all my Glee nonsense, and I have hellogidgett as my personal tumblr. Feel free to leave me messages! I'm notoriously slow at answering, BUT I SHALL ANSWER!

(And is anyone a fan of Shaman King? Because I might write a drabble or two related to that...)


	291. Insomnia

Disclaimer: Glee belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me.

* * *

><p>The new kid looks awful," Jeff whispered, but he wasn't very good at whispering and it came out too loud. Nick elbowed him in the side. "Ow! What? He does."<p>

"That still doesn't make it a nice thing to say," Nick whispered back. "The poor kid's having a rough time. Give him a break."

Blaine glanced up from his math homework to see the new boy stumble in the door, hugging his books to his chest, just as the bell rang. "Nice to have you join us, Mr. Hummel," the math teacher said as he switched on the smartboard. "A few seconds later and you would have been marked as tardy. I know you're still adjusting to life at Dalton, but please keep that in mind. Now, gentlemen, if you'll open up to chapter seven…"

He watched the last bit of color drain from Kurt's face as he ducked his head and slipped into an empty desk. Blaine frowned, eyeing him closely. Kurt's hands trembled a little as he picked up a pencil and opened to a clean page in his still-pristine notebook. The younger boy did look pretty worn out- pale and shaky, with dark circles under his eyes.

"Anderson, if you'll come up and demonstrate example four for us," the math teacher said.

Blaine blinked and scooted his chair away from his desk. He wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be demonstrating; he glanced down at the page. Something about the y=mx+b thing. He could probably manage it.

He worked out the answer as best as he could, biting back a sigh of relief when the teacher nodded in approval. Carefully he capped the whiteboard marker and handed it back. As he walked back to his desk he passed Kurt. The boy's hand had stilled on the page, the pencil balanced on his slim fingers. He patted his shoulder surreptitiously, and Kurt jumped like he'd been burned, swallowing down a terrified yelp.

Blaine paused. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

Kurt panted a little, looking around the room, and nodded slowly, his blue eyes wide and disoriented. The pencil had fallen from his fingers and rolled to the floor. Blaine bent and picked it up, placing it back in Kurt's hand. His skin was cold. He offered Kurt a smile that wasn't returned and walked back to his own desk.

"All right, Jeff's right, the new kid really doesn't look good," Nick murmured, and Blaine nodded. The others didn't know anything about the reasons behind Kurt's transfer, other than the bullying, but he did, and he knew what it felt like.

He kept an eye on Kurt for the rest of the day, and it only made his heart sink further. Kurt kept dozing off intermittently throughout math only to jerk awake, he picked at his lunch without actually eating much of it, he shivered all the way through Warblers rehearsal. He tried to catch him at before he left, but David and Wes caught him by the elbow and he had to watch Kurt slip out the door alone, lost in a sea of navy blazers.

"Blaine, I know you really wanted us to invite your new friend to join the Warblers, but are you sure he's Warbler material?" Wes asked.

David rolled his eyes. "That's not the priority, Wesley," he said. "Listen, Blaine, Kurt doesn't seem like he's adjusting well to Dalton. Do you know if something's wrong with him?"

Blaine sighed. "He was yanked away from his family to go to a strange boarding school an hour and a half from home, and that doesn't even include the stress from months of unchecked bullying before that," he said. "It's taking him a while to adjust."

"Yes, but he seems…so off," Wes said, frowning. "Like he can't stay awake."

"You should talk to his roommate," David said. "Maybe Trent will know something."

But when Blaine tracked him down at the coffee shop, Trent couldn't shed much light on the subject either.

"He just keeps to himself," he sighed, idly stirring his latte. "He's very sweet and everything, great roommate, but…he's just. I don't know." He glanced up at Blaine. "He talks to his family on the phone every night, sometimes for an hour. I usually put my headphones on when he does, but…it's kind of hard to pretend like I don't notice that's he's so upset."

Blaine fiddled with the strap of his watch. "Does he sleep okay?" he asked. "I mean…does he have nightmares and things like that?" He paused, laughing a little awkwardly. "Sorry, I bet this seems kind of creepy…"

But Trent didn't seem to find it odd. "He doesn't sleep at all," he said. "He goes to bed at the same time every night, but every time I wake up in the middle of the night…he's just lying there, holding onto his blankets, staring up at the ceiling." He cleared his throat. "What do you think might be bothering him?"

Blaine crossed his arms over his chest and looked down thoughtfully at his shoes. "I don't know," he lied.

But he did know. He knew too well.

There wasn't a good time to try to find Kurt and talk to him, not if he had a history test to study for, but he could probably get him out of Warblers practice and take him out for coffee. Well, if he wasn't sleeping, maybe not coffee. But Wes and David would understand.

He went back to his room and changed before gathering up his things and crossing the campus to the library. Mostly likely it would be easier to stay in his own room to study, especially since his roommate was out of town for a funeral, but his teacher was known to pull out obscure details for their tests, and cramming in the library for an hour or so might be for the best.

He had just settled in with several books about the Russian Revolution when the library doors opened and Kurt Hummel walked in. Well, not so much walked as tripped over his own shoelaces and almost falling on his face, but still.

Blaine set his book aside. Kurt was still dressed in his school uniform, but the tie was nearly unknotted and his shirt was untucked and wrinkled. But his face was the worst- pale and blotchy, uneven breakouts on his jaw, black circles under his eyes.

Blaine stood up slowly. "Kurt?" he said.

Kurt jumped, his binder falling from his hands. Papers fluttered around him like comically oversized snowflakes. "Oh my god," he sputtered.

"Sorry," Blaine apologized. He knelt down to help Kurt pick up his papers. "I didn't mean to scare you." He stacked the pages neatly. "Why are you at the library so late?"

"I'm behind," Kurt mumbled, the binder clumsy in his hands.

"Behind in what?" Blaine asked.

"Everything. I'm behind in everything."

Blaine looked up. Kurt was stacking papers feverishly, his chin trembling. "What do you mean?" he asked gently.

"I'm behind, I'm so behind, McKinley was never this tough," Kurt said, his voice beginning to wobble. "And…and my dad had another doctor's appointment today, and no one's called me to tell me to tell me how he is, and…and…" Blaine's fingers brushed Kurt's accidentally and Kurt yanked his hand back like he'd been burnt. "And I don't need your help, or your pity, thank you very much!"

Blaine rocked back on his heels, startled, as Kurt shuffled the papers messily back into his binder. His rumpled hair fell over his forehead. "Kurt," Blaine said gently.

"…what?" Kurt grumbled.

"When's the last time you had any real sleep?"

Kurt paused. "I…well…I sleep, sort of, but…"

Blaine waited.

Kurt's face began to crumple. Blaine kept waiting.

"I…I haven't really slept that well since my dad was in the hospital," Kurt confessed. "And then…and then the bullying got so bad, and then…and then the _kiss, _and then…I just-"

"You stopped sleeping," Blaine said gently.

Kurt nodded. A fat tear rolled down his cheek. "And then I had to move here, and it's…it's so _hard _here, Blaine, and I can't keep up unless I study, so I don't even have time to sleep anymore, and…" He swallowed hard, and a second tear followed the first. "And, I mean, Trent's nice, but…I miss my bed and my room, and…and we moved and I can't even go home anymore! Not like I used to!"

And then Kurt burst into tears in earnest, crouching on the library floor. Blaine pried the binder out of his hands. "Okay, okay," he said. "Hey, it's all right."

"I'm sorry!" Kurt sobbed. "I'm just so tired! I c-can't-"

"All right, we're done studying for the night," Blaine said, helping Kurt to his feet and taking the binder from his hands. "Come on. Let's go."

He walked down out of the library and held the door open. Kurt almost tripped again over his shoelaces and Blaine caught him around the waist. "I'm so sorry," Kurt said. "I don't…"

"Stop apologizing," Blaine said gently. He pulled Kurt a little closer to his side. The younger boy was shaking all over. "Come on."

It was cold out as they crossed the quad, wind whipping at their faces, but he could still hear Kurt struggling to calm down beside him, hiding his face behind his hand. Blaine exhaled slowly and rubbed Kurt's side in a way that he hoped was reassuring. He remembered those days still, when he couldn't sleep to save his life and he would wander around in an exhausted, sick, irritable haze until his doctor finally gave him something to help.

He led Kurt into the dorms and led him down the hall. Kurt pulled away a little, swiping at his face. "My room's on the third floor," he mumbled.

"I don't think you could make it up all those stairs," Blaine smiled. "You can stay the night with me." He reached for Kurt's hand and he didn't fight back; Blaine folded his fingers around his slim ones. "It'll be like a sleepover."

"I won't be a very good sleepover companion," Kurt said, rubbing at his eyes.

"It's okay," Blaine said, unlocking his dorm room door and ushering Kurt inside. "Go on, make yourself at home."

"I don't have my pajamas, or my toothbrush, or-"

"Kurt, I think you just need to sleep," Blaine said. "You can take my roommate's bed." He crossed to his drawers and rummaged around for a pair of warm fleece pajama pants and a loose gray tee shirt. "Here."

"Thank you," Kurt sniffled, raising his chin a bit as he took the borrowed clothes.

"You'll feel a lot better once you've slept some," Blaine said as he fumbled around in his backpack for his history notes. "Believe me. I know exactly how you feel. And you're safe here. I know that's hard to remember after everything you've gone through, but you really are safe. I'll be asleep about two feet from you. You'll be fine. And we can call you family first thing in the morning if you want. I'm sure your dad will be just as happy to hear you had a good night's sleep as you will be to hear how well things went for him at the cardiologist. Besides, if you're not-"

He turned around and paused. Kurt was dead asleep, sprawled out limply on the other bed, his clothes dumped on the floor and the pajamas loose on his frame. Tear tracks made shiny paths on his white cheeks. He breathed deeply, snoring just the smallest bit, and Blaine exhaled slowly.

He carefully lifted Kurt's long legs onto the bed and raised the blankets to drape over him. "Goodnight, Kurt," he murmured, smoothing a lock of hair back from his face. "It's going to get better." Kurt's chest rose and fell slowly as he breathed, his lips parting, and Blaine cupped his cheek in his hand. "It's going to get better."

* * *

><p>Author's Notes:<p>

Ah, the days when Blaine was older and mysterious. I miss them. I loved that characterization, much more than the over eager puppy version.

Also, I'm taking votes on which drabble I should write first for Klaine Bingo! Go to my redbullandcupcakebatter tumblr to vote on which topic I should write first!

(Also, since a couple of people were curious- yes, I work at the Disney World in Orlando!)


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